Beyond the Yew Tree
by MissSnowe155
Summary: Returning to Forks after many years of living in England with her mum, shy, daydreaming Bella strives to find a way to her estranged dad and live a normal life despite her condition. Meeting Edward and Garrett is a promise of new strength to fight for her life, but where the human and the supernatural worlds meet, a human is ever the more vulnerable side. AU, B/E at 1st; then B/G.
1. But the Door Was Already Closed

PART I: EDWARD

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The flight from Birmingham to Seattle has been silent. Somehow, as if we had been struck dumb by a bolt of lightning or an earthquake, we perched uncomfortably at our seats, avoiding looking at one another – dad hid behind a fishing magazine, as some British dads in period movies hide behind their copy of _The_ _Times_ ; I watched the clouds around us, twisting my hands in my lap, knees pressed together as tightly as if I was wearing a skirt.  
I used to love wearing them, skirts. I loved the freedom of movement they offered, the way I felt the fabric flow in the breeze, touching my legs. I used to love wearing knee-length skirts the colour of field poppies, shaped like they were formed of their petals, with a black waistband.  
But that was gone. Now it was jeans for me.

xxx

It began raining outside as we were passing through the dense old forest, overgrown with moss; I smiled at it. I had almost no memories of how Forks looks like, but I remembered the forest and the many times I got lost in it, daydreaming, reading, singing and dancing in the surety no one sees me, running away to its arms for comfort.  
"You remember Billy's old red Chevy truck? The one in which you used to play with Jacob?"  
"Vaguely, why?"  
"Billy's left it with me to sell it since he ended up in a wheelchair and has moved with Jake to Hawaii, so I thought I'd buy it for you, if you want," Dad grunted and I felt a pang of horror in my heart.  
"Billy's ended up in a wheelchair? How – when?" I remembered Billy; so full of life and jokes, just like his son Jake. It felt unreal.  
Dad sighed. "Some moron ran him over when he was shopping in Port Angeles. Now he's paralysed from the waist down. Nothing to be done."  
"God." I wrapped myself up in my arms tight. Poor Billy. Poor Jacob. Stupid cars. Stupid, stupid cars. "How's he taking it?" I asked after a while.  
"Pretty good."  
I thought of how Billy once fixed my skinned elbow and persuaded dad not to force me to go fishing with them after I cried seeing them kill the fish; when I pictured Billy, I saw only warmth of a good man. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right.  
"So what do you think?" Dad asked after a moment of silence.  
"About what? Billy?"  
"The truck."  
"Oh, sure. The truck. Sorry." I bit my lip and looked on my lap. "That's great of you, Dad. Really. Thanks so much, wow, I appreciate it. But... well, to be honest, I don't feel like I need a car just to go to school. There's sure some bus, right?"  
He shot his eyebrows up at me, in a sort of grumpy puzzlement. "Bus? Not sure about that, Bells."  
I looked ahead at the trees surrounding us left and right, crumpling my coat in my hand a little. "Or I can just walk. It's nice here. Will be nice to take in the scenery as I go." I pulled the window down an inch and reached out, to let the rain touch my hand. As it did, it made me smile. "It's so green here," I whispered, cuddling with the rain. "It reminds me of the Peak District."  
I blinked, swallowing, and breathed in the air, fresh with rain and the scent of fir and pine needles, of wet leaves and grass. It felt like a caress inside my lungs. I smiled again. Then I realized Dad was watching me. The moment he caught my glance, he looked back on the road, the same unreadable gruff expression as ever.  
"You sure you don't want it? It's one old beast, but it runs great."  
I was silent for a moment. "I don't have a driving license, dad."  
He puckered his brows. "I thought you can drive in the UK since you turn seventeen?"  
"Yeah. But I didn't want it."  
He frowned harder, shaking his head a little. "Well, suit yourself. Just if the weather gets real nasty or you're sick, I'll give you a ride, okay?"  
"Yeah, thanks."  
And the silence butted in again, heavy, oppressive. What do two strangers say to each other in a situation like this?  
"Dad?" I peeked at him, my heart beating hard.  
"Hmph?"  
"Thanks for taking me in."  
He glanced at me and cleared his throat. "You're welcome." After a moment, he added in a gruff voice, staring ahead: "I'm glad to have you back, Bells."  
I hoped that was the truth.

xxx

Dad helped me drag my bags and suitcases up the stairs to my room and then left to let me settle in. He wavered at the door and looked back at me, opening his mouth to say something – and then he just hung his head, looked away and shut the door behind him.  
"Dad-"  
But the door was already closed.  
I rubbed my eyes and glanced around with a slight unease. So this was it. My room. My old childhood room, which I'm sure he took great care to update for the needs of a high schooler with a desk and work lamp from IKEA, to make nice, to make inviting. But it wasn't. It was all somehow angular, modern, impersonal, somehow it all screamed of IKEA and Target and Walmart, the bedding, the curtains, the waste bin, the nightstand, all as if picked by a man who was at loss what to choose for a teenage daughter, picked because it was in store or in a catalogue, because it was functional, because it was within his budget, regardless of the lack of cosiness it created when put together, the lack of a personal touch. The sickly pale green walls dejected me. The room seemed to me in its coldness and with its sharp edges a personification of the wasteland that is depression.  
Still the view was from another world, with the bay window overlooking giant mountains covered with forests exuding filmy white mist. I watched the breathtaking mountains and the looming storm on the horizon beyond them as if transfixed; then I sat down on the bed, pulling my knees to my chin, and stared on. There was peace in that sight. And I wanted to cry, now that I was at last in private and could, but no tears came, much as I searched for them– somehow I was empty.  
Downstairs, Dad was surely grieving, too, in his own way, alone, making a pretence of watching a football game maybe as he did in most of the evenings in England – and I did not know how to make it easier for him.  
Tired, I curled up on the bed and fell asleep I have no idea how; I jolted awake at the sound of a thunder and but for the lightning bolts the sky was all dark. I like hearing the elements go wild, especially when I'm safe in a warm home and can just watch it through the window – but this time it did not lift the tension I felt all through me. I could still hear faint noise of the TV downstairs and wondered for how many hours dad had been glued to that screen, like each evening year after year, in complete loneliness unless Billy stopped by or he went fishing with him or the Clearwaters.  
I went to my backpack and took out of it a framed photo of mum, my best friend Julia and me laughing above my birthday cake with fifteen candles flaming on it. I put it on the desk and caressed their happy faces with my finger. My hand shook and I went to the bathroom to splash some icy water on my face and to drink.  
I tried to unpack some more; but the buzzing of the TV downstairs kept tugging at my ears.  
Slowly, carefully, clinging to the handrail, I went down the stairs and leant over the railing to peek at dad in the living room. Then I gathered my courage and went over to his couch, where he was sitting with a beer can in his hand and just as I thought, still staring at the TV screen.  
"A good game?"  
He cleared his throat. "Nice enough."  
"So... is your team winning?"  
"So far," he grunted and drank up.  
I shifted the weight on my other foot and tucked my hair behind my ear.  
He cleared his throat again.  
The fans roared inside the TV at someone's foul.  
Dad waved to the place beside him. "You wanna... sit and watch along?"  
I nodded and perched at the spot he indicated.  
And so our first evening alone in his home after eleven years, we just sat and watched a football match, in silence.

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 _Author's note: Thank you very much for reading, I hope you enjoyed:-) I'm not a native speaker, so I would really appreciate it if any of you native speakers could point out any grammar mistakes I've made so that I could correct them. Sorry it took me so long to edit this, RL is really busy, unfortunately - but, fingers crossed, new chapter should be posted relatively soon. Just a few tweaks left! Reviews are love and thanks to everybody who's sticking with this story. Silversimon, Kochabilka, NicNick et al... you guys rock:-)  
PS: Updates on progress with this fic will be on my profile._


	2. The Wings of a Dragonfly

The house was still when I woke up; the storm outside was long over and it seemed it might be a sunny day. Dad was gone to work already. I found the fridge and the pantry freshly stocked with groceries, all low-fat, low-cholesterol, healthy things, with plenty of fruit, vegetables and bottles of organic nectar. I smiled. My eyes stung a little.  
With dad, one had better learnt quickly to read signals like these, I thought then; chances were I'd actually grow grey and wrinkled thinking my dad's never loved me if I didn't. He had his own language of love and words were not part of it.  
I picked a Red Delicious apple, two red bell peppers and a peach nectar and sat down with it at the kitchen table, which stood in the bay window – again the view was lovely, just trees, moss, ferns and grass, no people. I pulled the jalousies up to see it better. Then I noticed an American SIM card and a note lying on the table.

 _Put me on speed dial. I'll come back around 12:00. Check the fridge and pantry and write down a list of what else you need. No dairy and no cheese – don't cheat, I read your doctor's instructions. Dad_

I flitted over the lines once more and smiled again. He'll be a much tougher guardian of my health than mum – when I was small, he was the one almost never likely to cave in, no matter my puppy eyes. Or mum's, for that matter. I think that was one of the things she liked about him. He was principled.  
I changed the SIM card and put dad on speed dial as instructed. Finishing my breakfast, I swallowed my portion of beta blockers and threw all the windows open to let the fresh air in. I stared at the forest for a moment. Two green and blue dragonflies were chasing after each other; and beyond them, in the thicket, it seemed to me I've glimpsed the head of a doe glancing towards the house.  
Something about her made me shudder, I didn't know why.  
I went up to unpack my baggage.

When I was done with it, I was very tired. I went to sit outside on a bench facing a patch of rose bushes to get some Sun. On the soil between the roses, a small blue dragonfly trying to get out of an ant's grasp caught my eye; I stood up and squatted close. She was such a beautiful thing, like she was made of mother-of-pearl and lapis lazuli... I felt a sting in my heart.  
Humans shouldn't interfere in these things – how long does a dragonfly live, few days? A week? And how long does an ant live and how many other ants does it feed? Each creature needs to eat, that is the way of things. But no matter how I was telling myself this, my heart twisted in knots. I watched the beautiful dragonfly in a mortal fight, struggling desperately with her thin legs, and though much larger than the ant, even upon finding roots to latch onto her fight was futile, the ant was still dragging her away by her wing, still stronger and the dragonfly in all her iridescent charm was to be gone before her time. With a heavy heart, before knowing I'm doing it, I took a rose leaf and nudged the ant with it. It didn't release its hold. I brushed it off with the leaf and it retreated, while she struggled on her feet. She made few steps forward and shivered. I thought she'll take off straight away, or at least after a moment after she recovers, but she stood and didn't move, while the ant still circled around.  
"Come on, fly," I whispered to her with my throat tight. "That ant will eat you if you don't."  
But she stayed still, very still, still as my heart in that moment; and then she lurched and slowly fell. And she didn't move again. I waited for a long time, thinking she might yet wake up. But she didn't.  
 _Have you lived out your week and would have died anyway?_  
 _Before your time, or exactly at the right time?  
_ I gathered her in my hands and laid her down amidst cornflowers, feeling a hot tear tumble down my cheek. It was one of those tears I'd never tell anybody I shed. I went up to my room, kicked off my shoes and sat on the bed, wrapping my arms around my knees and drawing them to my chin, staring at the photo on the desk. I got so lost in thoughts I didn't notice dad has come back until he knocked on my door.  
"Hey, Bells. Can I come in?"  
"Yeah, sure."  
He entered and glanced around. "It looks different. More like your old room in England."  
It did; I changed the purple polyester bedcovers he had bought for white embroidered linen flounced with broderie anglaise lace from my great-grandmother's trousseau and hung my old white crinkled chiffon canopy above the bed; the walls were hung with posters of Aznavour, Piaf, and Montand; the purple curtains I replaced with frilled, white, dotted chiffon ones. Beside the photo on the desk, I put a snow globe with a fairy inside.  
"You mind a lot I changed it?"  
He shook his head. "Nah, Bells – just make this comfortable for yourself, alright? That's what matters." He cleared his throat. "I guess I didn't quite guess right what your taste might be. I asked the saleslady to pick up something nice for a teenager, but..."  
"It's okay, dad," I hurried to say, crossing my legs under me and straightening up. "I know you tried your best – you really don't mind?"  
He grunted something and shook his head. "I should have known you're the romantic type," he added, as if stifling a sigh, and picked up the snow globe, turning it in his hands. "Your mum was just the same. All fanciful and believing in fairies. I gave this to her when we were dating..."  
"Do you want it, dad?"  
He shook his head quickly and put it down, facing me and putting his hands into his pockets. "Nope. Keep it. It fits here. Well, that will be it – I'll shower and we'll get down to making the lunch, okay?"  
"Okay, dad," I said and then added, tilting to the side: "Dad?"  
"Hmph?"  
"There's... there's a documentary projection about blue whales this afternoon, at the library. Would you like to go with me? And then we could grab some dinner, my treat?"  
"I have to go back to work, Bells. And then I promised Sue Clearwater I'll have a look at some plumbing she needs repaired."  
"Yeah," I blinked and tucked my hair behind my ear, glancing down. "Right."

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 _Author's note: Wow! Thanks to J'adoreSupernatural, prunelle05 and Kochabilka for subscribing to this story and big thanks to Kochabilka for reviewing! I can promise you you will find out about those skirts and of course, Garrett, in a couple of chapters:-) So here is the promised Chapter 2, I hope you guys enjoy:-) Subscribe, review, I love you all!_


	3. On the Bainbridge Ferry

On the Bainbridge ferry, just as we were lining up to park, that day before when we were travelling from Seattle to Forks, I peered at dad, who cleared his throat and kept clutching the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were all white.  
"I wonder how you don't sit on your hair," he grunted, giving a brief glance in my direction before focusing back on the line of cars before us like a responsible driver.  
I lifted a strand, glancing at it, and I shrugged, looking at him: "Well, sometimes I do. I have to be careful. But I like it this way."  
He gave a small, curt nod and pulled over to the left and up as signalled by the parking attendant in a neon yellow vest. "Looks good, Bells."  
"Thanks."  
We parked and I undid my seat belt. Dad stayed as he was. No indication he would move. No indication he would pull down the windows, which have been closed the whole ride from the airport to the ferry – I didn't dare to ask him to lower them.  
"I... I guess I'll go up on the deck," I said and dad nodded.  
"Sure. Just... just don't get cold."  
"I'll be careful, dad."  
Once I took a lungful of the crisp air and felt the wind on the deck hitting my face, I relaxed a little at last; inside dad's cruiser I was choking, as if I was one of the suspects or drunks he was transporting to his station.

It is some twenty to forty minutes of the ferry ride between Seattle and Bainbridge. That day, it was the Spring Break, Tuesday, March 25; the ferry was brimming with people, young and old, hiding from the wind and the chill in the lounge. I was grateful for that; apart from me, leant as I was against the green metal railing on the end of the ship that faced Seattle, there was only a group of teenagers on the other end, drinking and huddling in their parkas, and seagulls circling above them with mournful cries, their images sharp against the cloudy sky. I buttoned up my coat and started to play with the mourning locket on my neck, staring at the lead grey water rippling below.  
 _It was under the white Moon that I saw him..._ , I remembered from a tale mum used to read to me when I was small, _no past for you, no regret, no future of fear in this silver forest, only the perfect now and the white, Moon-dappled ride. And_ _for a breath of time all is hushed; gone in a sigh, that perfection, leaving the sharp knife-edge turning slowly in the breast. The supreme moment of stillness before the flight, the moment of farewell, of wordless pleading for remembrance of things lost to earthly sight- Then the half-turn under the trees, a motion fluid as the movement of light on water . . ._  
Like many things from my early childhood, the rest of the tale and its name were lost. I remember fights more clearly, many tearful fights between my parents, ending in flying and crashing glasses and slamming doors; I remember the helpless inability of dad to understand what on Earth was wrong, what has he done to make mum rage and despair so, and mum's agony at his lack of decipherable emotional response, any kind of response, even anger and violence would have been better than the wall of silence, reserve and incomprehension she was crashing into day by day, against which she was raging as if it was a prison. It was not the sleepiness of Forks or the lack of money that made my mum flee in the end; it was the pain that resided in the house, his and hers separate pains, never meeting, never understanding each other.  
I rubbed my face and hid the locket back under my scarf. I heard slow, quiet steps on my left. I glanced there; midway between me and the teens, there came a boy to lean against the rail. Tall, svelte like a girl, but with lean muscles and jaws and cheekbones and brows that were far from feminine, bronze-haired, beautiful, tragic somehow in his beauty the way Tadzio's actor from the _Death in Venice_ was, as if it never brought him anything good – and like Tadzio, he had the pallor of anaemia written on his face, as if a threat of premature death. But I was far from von Aschenbach's contentment when I surmised that – there is nothing joyful in youth that perishes away intact in its beauty instead of living to mature into an old age.  
Some men, yes, are beautiful, reach the most poignant stage of their beauty and vigour at ninety; I've seen it happen with my great-grandfather.  
This boy, it seemed, would never know old age.  
I plugged in Mahler's _Adagietto_ and watched him for a moment as he gazed at the water with his head hung low and his joint hands hanging over the railing, surrounded by heavy clouds. I resisted the temptation to ask him if I can photograph him – he clearly gave off the 'leave me alone' vibe. With that thought, I looked away to give him privacy and pulled out my book, searching for the page at which I stopped on the plane.  
Some twenty minutes later, when I got near the finish, I stared with astonishment at a drop of blood that appeared on the page, just below the text; no sooner I realized I was bleeding from my nose when I felt a forceful grip on my arm and someone pressed a handkerchief to my nose, stopping it and my mouth with it, I couldn't breathe, pushing my head forward so sharply I staggered. I struggled to get free; I felt my legs giving way; then I blacked out.

"I apologise for being so rough," I heard through the mist in my head. I blinked; images were swimming in front of my eyes, marked by black dots. I couldn't tell who was speaking to me, except that it was a male voice, adolescent. "I only wanted to stop the bleeding – but the sight of blood is... problematic for me. How are you feeling?"  
"Like somebody manhandled me, scared me out of my mind, choked me and nearly snapped my neck?" I murmured, rubbing my eyes. I blinked again, slowly recognizing the boy from the deck. I glanced around and saw we were in the lounge and people kept casting worried peeks our way; somebody had laid me on the seats, propped my legs up on my backpack so they would be higher than my head. The bleeding had stopped. I couldn't see the bloodied handkerchief anywhere.  
"You carried me here and did this?" I nodded to my legs.  
He nodded.  
I gave him a small smile with some effort. He meant well. Still I felt afraid of him; the violent way he grabbed me told me he doesn't know his own strength and doesn't think things through much while agitated – I was eager to be away from him. "Thank you. Though, next time... if we meet next time and this happens to me, better let me deal with it myself, okay?"  
He just nodded again. "The ferry will be landing soon," he said. "Do you think you can sit up?"  
I carefully tried it. I felt a little weak, but otherwise I knew I should be fine. I massaged my aching neck, yearning for a bag of ice. I glanced at him – and I didn't like the way he was looking at me. With a sudden chill running down my spine, I had an indistinct feeling I'm very lucky to be amongst people right now.  
"Is there anybody with you?"  
My heart sped up and I had goosebumps at that question. There was something about the way he asked that that made me very uncomfortable. "My dad's waiting in the car."  
"Okay. Now, let me help you, let's get you to him."  
He offered me his arm, but I shook my head and slung my backpack over my shoulder. "I'll be fine, thanks."  
I didn't want him touching me. As we silently walked down to the parking space, joining the stream of other passengers who were going back to their vehicles, I kept my distance from him, feeling on the edge, growing more and more acutely afraid. I fought the urge to run – and for once, I was incredibly grateful to be surrounded by a crowd. I do not know whether it was purely a reaction to what happened, or whether it was a gut feeling, or a mixture of both; but I was certain I do not want to have anything to do with him.  
I rushed to sit down beside dad, and as I did, the boy nodded back at me politely and entered a dark silver Lamborghini, which then started up with a wild roar like some monster kicked after winter's sleep.  
Dad shook his head.  
I exhaled in relief silently, then took a deep breath and exhaled again, trying to steady my voice. "What is it?"  
"Do you know what sort of a car it is?"  
"Lamborghini?" I read it on the back of the car; I wouldn't have known otherwise. Most of all it reminded me of a Batmobile – with an internal chuckle I wondered if the boy would have liked such a comparison.  
Dad sighed. "Reventón, limited edition, brand new, some two million bucks. I've been staring at this beast and wondering whose it is. Dr. Cullen, Dr. Cullen, what on Earth are you thinking?"  
"Dr. Cullen? Some local Scrooge McDuck or Don Corleone?" I tried to joke, but dad just frowned.  
"A surgeon and owner of the Forks hospital. He's the most brilliant doctor you can imagine, also a pretty charitable and nice guy, but he spoils his children beyond all sanity. Especially this one, Edward. I guess as the youngest he's the family pet, but I'm not sure it's good for him. You've talked with him?"  
I reined in a shudder. "Yeah. Briefly."  
"Listen, Bells, you two will be going to the same school, you might meet during some classes and I'd rather you're careful around him. That boy's got some issues."  
Oh God. The same school. The same classes. I felt very cold. "How do you mean?"  
Dad followed the line of cars out and waited for his turn to exit the ferry. "Well, once the boy grabbed his lab table at school and threw it out through the window glass, scaring the Biology professor so much he wanted to quit. They nearly expelled him and he could stay only because Dr. Cullen somehow smoothed it out. With a hefty donation for the new Gym building, I should imagine. Then, just a month and a half ago, Edward totalled a brand new Maserati car his dad gave him that very day. It wasn't an accident or because he would be drunk or got too excited about trying out how much speed he can get out of the machine - he crashed it against a rock at top speed on purpose, as if he wanted to kill himself."  
 _Sounds to me more like an angry protest than a suicide attempt_ , I thought, intrigued despite myself by the timing of the crash – but I stayed silent and listened on. I massaged my neck again.  
"I wanted him to lose his driving license," dad glanced at me, "but his father smoothed it out at a higher level and the boy got out of it just with therapy sessions. At those sessions, I heard he messed with that therapist's mind so she rather signed that the boy's okay two weeks earlier just so he wouldn't drive her to the Bedlam. And you see it. Instead of setting him straight, Dr. Cullen just bought Edward a shiny new Lamborghini, two million bucks, limited edition." Dad shook his head. "Look, I respect Dr. Cullen, but I seriously think he's doing the boy a disservice with this kind of coddling. He needs to face his mistakes, not a freaking new car."  
Maybe. But I would be more interested, psychologically speaking, in what led him to those mistakes in the first place – and with a certain regret I thought I'll never know, since I was determined to give that boy a wide berth.  
I said so to dad, adding: "I doubt anyway he'll pay much attention to me at school. I'm not what you'd call a cool kid – I don't think he'll want the cool crowd to see him with me."  
"Well, there's some comfort in that," dad grunted and we left the ferry behind.

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 _AN: Thank you, thank you, thank you all who read, subscribed, favorited and/or reviewed this story! I hope you like this update. Leave a review and let me know?:-)_


	4. Mood Swings

As I was buttoning my blouse in front of the mirror in the bathroom, I traced the large silvery tree tattooed over the scar running down my sternum with my fingers. I took a deep breath, shutting my eyes tight, and I bent over the cold basin, gripping it for support.  
Quickly dressing and dealing with the breakfast, I went to where I had laid the dead dragonfly and found she was gone; only a spider web, shining with drops of dew, was blowing on the stems of the cornflowers above where she used to lie. I picked one bloom and put it in the buttonhole of my coat, when I saw a doe at the edge of the forest. It seemed like she was the very same doe that I've seen on the first morning here – but this time, it wasn't just one brief glance she directed at the house. It was a long, intent look at me. Straight into my eyes. And I noticed one weird thing I haven't back then – she was all white.  
And I felt... I don't know... it was very strange, like a misty tuft of a memory brushed against me. It seemed to me I smelled the scent of peach blossoms, so intense it must have been an orchard in full bloom. But when I tried to grasp at that mist, it evaporated.  
In my wanders through the forest, I could have sworn several times I've caught a glimpse of her through the corner of my eye, as if she was following me – but whenever I've focused my eyes, there was only the shadow of a bush or a pile of old leaves whirling in the wind. Likewise now, when I blinked, she was gone – and I was left to wonder if I'd seen her at all staring at me, or if it was the side effect of the beta blockers.

xxx

Dad dropped me at the school parking lot.  
"Alright, Little Red Riding Hood," he said, referring to my blood red coat, "careful about the wolves."  
I grinned at him, swinging my bag over my shoulder. "Always am, dad."  
He looked at me for a moment with a hint of sadness. "Weird," he muttered, "how you've grown."  
"Yeah." I didn't know what else to say to that. I glanced back at the red-bricked school building and smiled at him. "Feels a bit weird not to be in a uniform and not to have my hair pulled back – and to see boys around. Strange there's no headmistress checking the length of girls' skirts at the entrance."  
Dad arched his eyebrows in question. "Was that what your school was like back there?"  
I laughed. "Yeah. Every day."  
"I always saw you wearing pants on your school photos."  
I shrugged, clutched the shoulder strap tight and tried to force down the lump in my throat. "Yeah. Much less hassle."  
"Alright, good luck, Bells. Any problem – the speed dial, okay?"  
"Okay, dad," I leant down to kiss him on his cheek, but he turned his head away. I clenched my eyelids and straightened up, shifting the bag on my shoulder and spinning around on my heel. "See you later."  
As I was rushing towards the Office, I noticed a herd of expensive-looking cars lining up behind me. I recognized the Lamborghini Reventón with a feeling of unease; the other brands I didn't know, but they all looked to be luxury things, standing out strangely amongst the worn, second hand, small town repertoire that seemed to fill the lot otherwise. I sped up.  
Couple of kids glanced my way, mildly curious or surprised to see a stranger, but then they went on with their own business, all in motion, laughing, chatting; likewise when several adolescents of the same poignant pallor as the boy from the ferry came out of the expensive cars, they rushed inside at once having a lively discussion - but the boy stood very still by his Reventón, leaning against it slightly, and watched me, face devoid of expression and eyes unreadable and cold... and fixed. I felt my heart in my throat and for some reason I remembered the white doe, the dread she must be feeling when chased by drunken hunters, the yearning and love that must be in her for the shelter of the forest, for the whisper in the leaves.  
Throughout the day, I avoided empty classes and loitered on the corridor among people, avoided elevators, tried to inconspicuously join groups when walking from lesson to lesson. Few would speak to me, but it did not matter; all I asked for was the protection of a herd and for the boy to leave me alone as he passed by. But still I felt his eyes on me, at the nape of my neck, watching me ever, following me like my own shadow, even if - looking behind – I saw no one at all.

But that was to be later during the day and as of yet I was vanishing in the Office and then walking out of it. Even with a map the lady gave me there, the school was a bit of a maze and I found myself lost straight when looking for the first class. I stood amidst a corridor with students passing me by or shoving me out of the way, until I spotted across me a girl chatting and laughing with her friends. She had a pleasant enough face and something about her brown curls looked approachable, so I worked up my courage and went to her: "Hey, excuse me, could you show me where-"  
She glared down at me, chewing a gum. "You got a map, so use it. Excuse me," she mimicked me sarcastically and went away with her pals, shaking her head and giggling with them.  
I was baffled for a moment and then I raised my eyebrow and muttered: "How kind of you to be so helpful."  
"Well, you're lucky she didn't tell you off worse," a serious, shy, pleasant voice said behind me and I turned to see a petite, lovely chestnut-haired girl, who was offering me a sad, friendly smile. "That's Jessica and her bunch. Better avoid them if you can, you could get hurt."  
"Thank you for the heads up," I smiled at her with gratitude and she tilted her head with sudden interest.  
"You English?"  
I nodded.  
"Okay – I guess... I guess you're new here, right? What class are you looking for?"  
"Trigonometry. I'm... I'm Bella, by the way," I extended my hand to her in uncertainty and she shyly shook it.  
"Nice to meet you. I'm Angela. Come, it's this way. You can sit with me if you want."  
Angela, as it turned out, was sweet; we talked books a lot and she told me she loves Agatha Christie and the Brönte sisters, that her dad is the minister here and that we two could go hiking together if I like. And so, the Trigonometry, which was the only class we shared, ended all too soon; she walked me to History and waved at me as she joined a group of her friends, rushing away to her own class with: "See you, Bella! Hope you like it here!"  
After the History class, I leant against the wall for a while and just breathed, tired; I flitted over the unknown faces, wondering if I knew any of them whilst I still lived in Forks; I looked at their clothes, at the way they walked, at all the quotidian, all the unimportant just to fill my mind with something else than the mild stabs of pain in my arm and chest, until I spotted a blonde girl that tried to balance walking on forearm crutches and carrying a precarious pile of books.  
She reminded me somehow of a shy bird, stripped of her feathers that would allow her to fly; her legs were thin, way too thin to carry her weight, strangely twisted at the ankles and knees, almost no help to her at all. Toulouse-Lautrec syndrome?  
"Hey."  
She blinked, as if just landing after an involuntary fall somewhere from the outer space and unable just yet to register or decipher the speech of the Earth; she gave me a scared, quizzical look.  
"Hey," I repeated gently. "Sorry. Need any help with those books?"  
A pair of pale blue eyes focused on me and after a moment she gave me a small, cautious smile and a nod. I took the pile over and she smiled at me once again in gratitude, setting off.  
"I'm Bella, by the way."  
"Ginny," she murmured very quietly, peeking at me to the side and averting her eyes immediately as they met mine.  
"Where are you going?"  
"English."  
"Okay, lead the way, I'll follow you."  
She nodded and with her head hung, she walked beside me, until she halted in front of one classroom. There, she gave me a very small smile and a nod, taking the books back - but seeing the class door, she saddened and hunched a little, sighing.

I was heading to the last period of the day when I nearly bumped into her as she hurried out of the class with tears on her cheeks.  
"Ginny-"  
"Leave me alone," she replied in a strained voice and rushed away on her crutches, dragging one leg behind her like a dead weight.  
A tall blonde girl, the helpful curly-haired girl I asked about directions and some others came out of the class giggling and the blonde was recording Ginny's retreat.  
"Nice one, Lauren," the curly-haired girl complimented her while Ginny, shaken and unstable on her crutches, vanished behind the corner of the corridor. I was seeing red.  
"Yeah, did you see her how she fell on that fat ass? I wonder if it even hurt," Lauren chuckled, replaying it for them on her phone. "Such a crybaby."  
"Delete it!" I snapped at her and dropped my bag.  
"Fuck off, loser," Lauren snorted, glancing briefly up at me and then looked back on her phone. I yanked it away from her and deleted the file before she knocked me down on the ground and kicked me in my ribs. I curled up and felt another kick in my kidneys. I looked up, everything swimming a little, and glimpsed one of the teachers passing by and casting his eyes down guiltily and hanging his head low, between his shoulders, speeding up.  
"Lauren, stop it!" some girl, I think it was Angela, squealed in fright while I got another kick in my stomach.  
"Shut up, Angela!" Lauren growled and dug her heel in my chest. I lost my breath.  
"Stop it, she's the Chief Swan's daughter, he'll kill you!"  
But she kicked on. On and on and on, I wrapped my arms around my head to protect it, she kicked me so I rolled over on my back and then jumped on my ribs and I screamed out in pain, kicked my head, kicked my stomach again, hard, quickly, many times, painfully, it was an agony – I tried to stand up, but at that moment another girl knocked me down and joined in the kicking. Then other two, I don't know which; I think only the girl Lauren had called Jessica didn't. I think I heard her pleading with Lauren again to stop it. I'm not sure. Some of them grabbed my hair and banged with my head against the floor while the other dug her heel in my belly.  
"Lauren, cut it, you'll kill her!"  
They didn't. I don't know for how long it went on – I lost consciousness for a moment I think, I'm not sure. But suddenly they stopped and before they kicked me again, I rolled away and tried to get up to my knees, panting – and saw that Lauren has taken a step back with a scared expression.  
Suddenly I felt icy hands on my shoulders and I froze even before hearing the voice. "Is there any problem here?"  
I shuddered, reining in a mounting panic and sickness. Edward gently pulled me up, while Lauren stared behind me speechless.  
"No," the curly-haired one, Jessica, said, eyes huge. "No, we were just... it was just..."  
"Well, if there was, I'm sure there won't be any next time, will it, Lauren?" he asked without a hint of emotion in his voice.  
He put my arm around his neck and took my bag. "Come. Lean on me. Can you walk?"  
"Yeah."  
"Shh, easy," he stopped me when I tried to set off. "Catch your breath. Just lean on me. Would you like to sit down for a moment?"  
"I'm fine."  
"Are you sure?"  
I shrugged off his hand and took my bag back. "Yeah," I murmured, "thank you."  
"For nothing. Do you want me to take you to the hospital?"  
"No, thanks. It's nothing – just some bruises, that's all." I felt strangely empty and numb. "I'll just sit through Biology and go home. So don't worry about me," I murmured, dazed and unable to think, and set off a little unsteadily. He stopped me and put his hand on my ribs. I pushed it away. "Ow!"  
"Sorry. I think you need an X-ray. Does it hurt to breathe in?"  
I shrugged him off. "I'm fine, Edward. I'll go to the infirmary straight after Biology, okay?"  
"Fine. Let me at least show you the way to class. Okay?"  
"Okay."  
We walked beside each other in silence for a moment.  
Then he snorted in amusement.  
"What?"  
"Oh, nothing," he smirked. "Just that the Trigonometry teacher looked the other way and went on when he heard you cry out and saw Lauren kicking you. Just so you know if you are thinking about going to the Principal."  
My head spun and I shook it. I didn't know I had screamed. "I have no illusions when it comes to headmasters," I murmured. "The last I asked for help told me to switch schools."  
He didn't say anything to that, only gave me a pensive look.  
My mind was in a whirl, hazy, it was difficult to latch onto any coherent thought – I still could not believe what happened, could not process it rationally, could not understand it. The corridor blurred in front of my eyes. I rubbed them.  
"Are you alright?"  
My vision turned monochromatic; I clutched onto his shoulder and frantically fished in my pocket for a piece of chocolate, but before I found it I went down and I blacked out for a second. He caught me and pulled me close to steady me - and suddenly I felt I'm up in the air and he was carrying me, though it was very strange, because the way he gathered me in his arms was so very tender, as if he picked up a newborn child, or a bride to carry over the threshold, flounces of lace spilling over like sea foam.  
"Come, let's find you somewhere to sit."  
He brought me to the nearest class, which was yet empty. "Or maybe you better lay down," he suggested with a frown and I nodded, fighting dizziness and battling my brain to not to shut down and think, think for Christ's sake. He put me gently on the floor, took my bag and used it to prop my feet up above my head and then he took off his hoodie and spread it under me, kneeling down to me. "Did she hit your head?" he asked, unscrewing my water bottle and helping me to drink.  
When I finished drinking and he laid my head on the ground, I closed my eyes not to see everything dancing in front of me. I wasn't able to speak for a moment. Or move. Or do anything. I was stupefied – everything came to me as if from a great distance, felt unreal. I just was so tired.  
"Take your time," Edward said and put a finger on my inner wrist, checking my pulse. I recoiled at that touch. He didn't seem to pay any mind to it.  
"Ginny-"  
"Who's Ginny?"  
"Lauren hurt her and recorded it on her phone. Her leg... it might be broken..."  
"I see. I'll check on her later if you want, so don't you worry about her now. Did Lauren hit your head?"  
"It's nothing, really," I told him, trying to pull myself up so as to move for the exit, because a gnawing instinct told me I have to flee, but he pushed me down very carefully and shook his head. I took a deep breath and exhaled, staring up at the ceiling, trying to control the mounting fear that was making my heart crazy. Somehow everything looked like some Picasso's painting, skewed, topsy- turvy, nonsensical. "Just my blood pressure's having Byronic mood swings."  
"I know."  
For some reason it sounded eerie.  
"Got anything sweet?"  
I didn't like feeling so powerless with him near me. But the calm, professional, oddly tender way he was handling me confused me. It was a relief not to have to explain things – not to see the person who's seeing me while I'm helpless and sick freak out – not to have to focus on placating them. Not to have to feel ashamed that I'm ill. I just wanted to curl up and sleep, but something nagged me to fight and stay awake.  
I nodded, gulping and struggling to breathe evenly. "Yeah. In my... in my bag. The small pocket."  
He rummaged in it and brought out a chocolate bar. He unwrapped it and handed it to me. I devoured it and waited for it to work.  
"Maybe you should call it a day," he scanned me, matter-of-fact, laying his elbow on one knee. "Right now you are in shock but the pain will kick in soon. Call your father and go home, if you don't want to go to hospital. I can clear it up with the teacher, if you want."  
I shook my head. "Maybe... maybe I'll be better in a few."  
He shrugged, knitting his eyebrows. He shrugged, knitting his eyebrows. "You won't and you know it," he said strangely softly. "You'd be barely able to stand up if I let you. And then you would fall right down and black out. Truth be told, you're barely holding onto your consciousness even now, aren't you?"  
I didn't reply. I was too sick for that.  
Because he was right.  
"How about I take you to the infirmary after all? Have the nurse look at you, if you don't want to alarm your father. You know, just in case."  
"If you can get here the gurney," I muttered, straining to speak. Everything was monochromatic once more and I knew I'd be out in a matter of minutes at best. "Sorry, Edward. I can't..." My head spun around.  
"Shh. It will be okay. Don't worry about it."  
And he picked me up and carried me, with the very same strange tenderness, the very same professional focus, the very same slow, careful walk as if to avoid rocking me and making me sicker.  
The last thing I knew before I passed out at the infirmary was that he was holding my hand – and that I was too weak to take it away, or make a single other movement, despite every inch of my skin crawled under his touch.  
So much for wide berth, right?

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 _Author's note: My heartfelt thanks to all the people who read, reviewed, favourited or put this story on alert! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Also, many thanks to Filmdork for their advice about some details of the US high school life - it is very much appreciated:-)_


	5. The Evening Guest

Waking up, I saw dad storming in and Edward rising to leave my side – and I saw dad frowning at my hand in Edward's. And then I realized I was in the ER, not in the school infirmary.  
"What was that Cullen boy doing there?" dad asked as he was driving me home, frowning at the road ahead.  
I shivered with cold and wrapped the coat tighter around me. "Just trying to help."  
He raised his eyebrow at me.  
I explained, leaning my head against the window and closing my eyes: "One girl was harassing a disabled girl and I... got into a fight with her about it. He stepped in to help me, I got sick and he tried to stabilise me before taking me to the nurse." I coughed and wiped away sweat from my forehead. I looked at him and I whispered, wishing we were home already so I could go to sleep: "Maybe there's more good to him than meets the eye."  
"Humph," he made, unconvinced. "Maybe a momentary lapse. Or he took fancy to you and is just trying to get into..." he glanced at me and cleared his throat, staring ahead again, "impress you. You may not be a cool kid, Bells, but you're surely about the prettiest girl at the school."  
It sounded like a statement of fact rather than a compliment. And a fact that didn't seem to please him very much. I looked away. Strange. He didn't ask any of the logical questions a parent would ask in such a situation – and stranger still, I didn't feel much like sharing, though I still felt every kick, despite the Tylenol. And I thought of the girl with the Toulouse-Lautrec. Toulouse-Lautrec. Her bones are fragile like crystal goblets; they shatter and splinter at the slightest fall, they likely prove an obstacle to many of her dreams. Most probably that leg she dragged behind herself was broken – and nobody gave a damn. It hurt. It hurt with all the force of déjà-vu. It was like seeing Julia all over again.  
"Bad day at work?"  
He frowned even more and pulled over to the left. "Not worse than usual. Old Hopkins got drunk yesterday night and made a mess at the diner this morning. Couple of teens ditched school and crashed into a dustbin with their car, high on weed." He shrugged. "Just the usual stuff, Bells."  
"Who's old Hopkins?"  
"A local figure. Moved in after... well, you couldn't know him. He keeps getting drunk, I keep trying to get him in a rehab and his lawyer nephew keeps getting him out of it. Same old story every year."  
"He dangerous?"  
"Nah, just gets on people's nerves. But thanks to him I get all my meals at the diner free," he smirked with dry humour.  
That was an improvement. I gathered my courage.  
"About that disabled girl, dad, Ginny – could you maybe do anything about it? Scare the girl that bullies her with some charges or something so she would leave Ginny be?"  
"That depends," he muttered dryly. He glanced at me. "Who's the girl?"  
"Lauren-"  
"Lauren Mallory," he scoffed a little and clenched his jaw. "Sorry, Bells. I can try, but I doubt it will work."  
"Why?"  
"She's the Mayor's daughter."  
Well, that would explain her initial cockiness.  
"Leave it be, Bells. Don't meddle in that."  
Not for the first time I've noticed dad powerless and resenting it, how people with more power, connections and money than him always thwarted him in his efforts to do the right thing to keep Forks a safe place.  
"Dad... it was her who beat me up."  
"And you want to press charges."  
"I don't want her to get away with it."  
He sighed and clutched the wheel tighter. "Neither do I, Bells, but she will anyway. And the Mayor will be after my neck even more than he is already. That's just the way it is."  
I didn't want to get him into trouble. I decided to think it through when my head is clearer.  
"Will you come home for dinner?" I asked him after a while, staring at the drizzle that began to dot the windshield.  
"Not likely," he replied without a trace of emotion in his voice, focusing on the road. "I've promised Sue and Leah I'd help them repair some stuff at their home. I guess I'll dine there. So just rest and don't worry about it."  
I glanced at him. His face was tense and unreadable. I gazed back at the dots of rain, folding my hands in my lap. "You've spent the whole weekend fishing with them again," I said quietly.  
He cleared his throat and his knuckles on the steering wheel whitened. "Yeah. They're having it rough now, Leah especially. You know her dad died few months ago."  
"Yeah," I whispered, looking away at the rain. "I can imagine Leah's having it rough."

xxx

I listened to the evening's sounds outside from my half-sleep and jerked awake whenever I heard wood cracking or something, moths probably, crashing into the windows like sharp knocks of fingers.  
It started to rain again and the forest murmured in an uneasy rhythm, lit by half of a moon that hid the other half behind a cloud; for a moment, I wished I were that cloud, not to feel any weight, just float as the wind takes me here or there, nothing but the flight and immeasurable lightness under the face of the moon.

I do not know how much time passed, but it may have been an hour before I heard the doorbell ring. Sleepy, not quite thinking yet, dazed from the painkillers, I went down, but as I opened the door, there was nobody – only a bouquet of white asphodel lilies tied with a white silk ribbon and a note written in a beautiful, a bit old-fashioned script:

 _Get well soon._

 _E._

And then I saw him, at the horizon, walking away with his hands in his pockets, bare head attacked by the rain, his jacket drenched. He didn't look back and I didn't call out to him. I picked up the asphodel and hugged it, as if it could bestow warmth and comfort, and watched the rain glide down from the canopy of the trees and moss above the road, and him, until he vanished from my sight. Then I put them in a vase and carried them up to my room, gripped by sadness I couldn't quite explain.

xxx

As I was falling asleep once more, I heard some car pulling in and parking, but it didn't sound like dad's. Then the doorbell rang again and I slowly, my head spinning a little, gathered myself up and crawled off the bed. This time my mind was clear enough for me to look out of the window first to see who's there – and to my surprise it was Angela. I trudged down the stairs, wincing in pain because the Tylenol had worn off, feverish, and I shuddered with cold as the icy evening air got in when I opened the door.  
Angela shifted weight from one leg to the other, soaked and dripping, and gave me an uncertain smile. "Hi."  
"Hi."  
"I heard they took you to the hospital, so I figured that you've missed the last class – and I... I thought I'd bring you the notes from today," Angela took them out of her bag and offered them to me. "I dunno which one you were to have, so I took them all."  
"Thanks," I took them, taken a bit aback. We stared at each other in an uncomfortable silence for a couple of seconds. I cleared my throat. "That's very nice of you. How did you find me?" Which was the same question I had in store for Edward.  
She grinned a bit sheepishly, her hair soaked and lank. "Everybody here knows where Chief Swan lives." She peeked over my shoulder, knitting her eyebrows, looking somewhat worried. "You alone here?"  
"Yep, dad went fishing." She frowned, her anxiety growing. I opened the door wide and made way. "Would you like to come in? Have some hot tea or something?"  
Angela grinned and teased: "Tea? Sounds great. Got any milk to put into it?"  
I chuckled and shook my head, leading her in. "I am afraid, my dear, that this household is regrettably lacking in any dairy. I shall have to have a word about that with the cook. The negligence of the servants these days is absolutely shocking."  
She chuckled, too, but she quickly became serious and uncertain again. "Nah, it's okay, Bella. I just wanted to talk to you."  
I blinked and said: "Alright."  
We went up to my room and sat down opposite each other in the reading nook.  
She glanced around and smiled, tucking her hair behind her ear while I put the notes away. "Nice room. I think I should shabby chic mine up a bit, too."  
"Thanks. You sure you don't want tea or coffee?"  
"Yeah, I'm cool," she nodded and gazed at me, shy, vulnerable. "Look, Bella... I'm sorry. That I didn't help you. I tried to stop them, but... I should have done more."  
I shrugged and smiled at her, wanting to go back to sleep. "It's okay, there was no point. You'd only have gotten yourself beaten up, too."  
"Yeah, but... that doesn't make it right all the same. I should have called for help or something."  
I patted her hand. "It's alright. I know what it's like, to be in the situation you were in. I don't blame you at all. And it's not like we know each other or something, you really didn't have to."  
"Yeah," she hung her head. "Thanks."  
"Is that what you wanted to talk about?" I asked softly.  
She sighed and shook her head. "No. I mean, yep, but... no, it's not the main thing."  
She appeared troubled. I waited for her to speak.  
"Bella..." she sat closer to me. "You look like a nice girl and I think you've been through a lot. Look, as you said, we don't know each other, right, but I don't want you to get hurt."  
I felt the kicks sharply then and I grimaced in pain, gripping my stomach. "Sorry," I muttered and stood up to get some more Tylenol. "Hold onto your thought, I'll be right back."  
"Hey, wait, I'll get it for you," she jumped to her feet and pushed me back to sit. I closed my eyes and rested my head against the bookcase built into the reading nook, praying the nausea will go away quickly – I really didn't need to frighten Angela even more by scurrying away to vomit. I still felt quite light-headed and that wasn't a good sign.  
"Here," she handed me a glass of water and Tylenol. I smiled at her and swallowed the pill.  
"Thanks, Angela."  
"For nothing," she sat down again, watching me with forehead creased with worry. "Look, shouldn't I call the ambulance? I mean, you look so sick, maybe you shouldn't be here alone."  
"Dad will come home around nine or ten," I replied, squeezing her upper arm. "It will be fine. Don't worry."  
"Okay. So... I'll just say my piece and let you go back to bed, right?" she attempted a smile and I nodded. She bit her lip. "How well do you know Edward?"  
I knit my brows. "I don't know him at all, why?"  
"Really?" she was taken aback. "I had thought... you know, when he carried you and stood up for you and all... he never does that. He keeps to himself. He's not exactly a friendly type, you see."  
I shrugged, tired. "We met only once before, I was sick and he helped me out, that's all."  
"Right," she muttered and leant back, frowning and as if hesitating whether to say something or not. "I see. Well...," she bit her lip. "I heard Edward went with you to the hospital, is that true?"  
"Yep, he did," I sighed, rubbing my face. "I don't really understand why he did that, but it was nice of him. Though my dad wasn't thrilled to see him there."  
"No wonder," she murmured.  
"Why? Because of that car and that incident in Biology?"  
"That... and...," she wavered and then took a deep breath and said, looking at me with some urgency: "I guess your dad didn't tell you he's jailed Edward for a couple of hours, before Dr. Cullen's lawyer got him out?"  
I stiffened. "No, not a word. Why? On what charges? When was it?"  
"Last April," she replied and swallowed. "And the charge was murder."  
I froze. "Murder?" I whispered.  
"Yep. Aggravated first degree murder. That's what they said it was when her murder was prosecuted."  
I felt a strange chill. "So the victim was a girl."  
She folded her hands in her lap. "Yep. Bree Tanner. She was my friend."  
She stared at me for a moment intently while chills were crawling all over me, and tugged at the edge of her jacket, biting her lip.  
"Go on," I prompted her softly.  
"She kept saying Edward's such a looker and that it's horrible that he's so all alone. That it's no wonder he doesn't want Jessica or Lauren, because they are such bitches, especially Lauren. That day, before she was murdered, I and a couple of other guys saw her at school arguing about something with Edward so hard. They kept their voices low, but I could see he was mad. You know, she had such a big crush on him, was bringing him gifts, kept trying to run into him by chance, tried everything to make him talk to her, but he always just brushed her off. She... she told me she'd ask him out for the Spring Dance, just that afternoon before that when we were in Port Angeles picking dresses-" her voice broke and she took a couple of seconds to steady it.  
"What were they arguing about?"  
She shook her head. "I don't know – but I'm almost sure, that..." she trailed off and took several deep breaths. "You know," she lowered her voice, "that day before she'd ask him out she told me she's found something that will make him go out with her and give her a chance. Something about him, something bad."  
"What?"  
"She wouldn't tell me," Angela shook her head, anxious. "But two days later she was dead."  
"Oh God," I whispered and gripped her hand, pulling her into a hug and laying her head on my shoulder as she shook with suppressed sobs. "Oh my God."  
After a while she extricated herself from my hands and sniffed, reaching into her pocket. "Look – this was her," she showed me a photo of a beautiful, pale, dark-eyed brunette teen. I took it from her and looked at it for a moment.  
"She looks like a nice person," I murmured. "She had such a lovely smile."  
"Yeah," Angela attempted to smile and took it back, staring at it. "She really was nice. Had it tough at home, her dad was a jerk, always in some kind of trouble. I guess that's why she went after Edward. Gorgeous, from a stable family, smart, polite when teachers spoke to him, always knowing the correct answer, always so clean and smelling so nice – and a loner with no friends. She just thought he's unhappy and needs a girl who'd love him to be fine."  
She teared up and turned her head away. I patted and squeezed her upper arm and she wiped her tears away with the back of her hand and went on: "Old Hopkins saw her getting into Edward's car. That was the last anybody saw her alive. Well, except for the murderer, I guess," she sniffed and rubbed her face. She was silent for a moment and I, numb, shaken, stared off at the asphodel, pale, white, the silk ribbon gleaming softly in the electric light. Then I forced myself to look back at her. She wiped her eyes again. "The lawyer said Old Hopkins was drunk and seeing things, because Edward was picking up Nurse MacFadyen at the hospital to drive her to Seattle. The nurse confirmed that and because the police didn't really have anything, your dad had to let Edward go." She hung her head, playing with the photo. "One guy later confessed to it, a soldier on leave, said she was hitchhiking and he picked her up, but he was drunk and tried to feel her up, so she burst out screaming and he got scared and tried to make her shut up."  
"How... how was she killed?"  
Angela shuddered. "Her neck was snapped."  
Hair bristled up on my skin and I stiffened.  
She broke in a sob and buried her face in her hands. "So you know, that guy was jailed for that, but..."  
"But you still think it was Edward who did it," I finished, stunned, and she nodded in tears.  
"That's why Lauren's scared of him – and about everybody else. I dunno why he's nice to you, but you should be on your guard. I dunno what his secret is, but it must be something nasty if it's worth killing over."  
I couldn't find any reply to that.  
"So look, Bella..." she took my hand and bit her lip, "it's really none of my business, but I don't want another girl killed. Will you promise me to stay safe and avoid him?"  
I couldn't find any reply to that. Instead, as her face twisted with unshed tears, I hugged her tight and held her till she cried it out.

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 _Author's note: As always, big thanks to all who read, reviewed, favorited or subscribed to this story - I really appreciate it:-) How do you like it so far? What do you expect to happen next? Tell me in the reviews:-)_


	6. Searching for Bree Tanner

That night, outside near a river, forests and rocky mountains in the backdrop, in my dream I saw Bree Tanner standing in silence some thirty yards away from me and staring at me with deep, sad dark eyes, dressed in a pair of washed out blue jeans and in a baseball jacket. What struck me the most, I remember, was her loneliness, the oddity of her being the only living thing there apart from plants and me; there were no animals, no insects, nothing. The world she inhabited seemed so empty, so desperately lonely. I tried to go to her, but I couldn't move; and she did not move, either. Just stared at me. Then the scene changed and I woke up into a strange sort of consciousness as I dreamt of a pile of bodies of brown-haired and brown-eyed girls mixing with bloodied masses of dead fish. It wasn't jerking upright as they do in movies; it was a slow, agonizing struggle with my eyelids to lift and for my hands or legs to move, because I knew I'm asleep – but my whole body was paralysed and it felt like I will never regain the control of my limbs again.  
"Shh," I heard Edward's voice. "Don't be afraid. You are in hospital and you are taken care of. You will live. You will be alright."  
I stirred, still fighting with my eyelids, which elicited another gentle: "Shhh." I felt an icy hand brush away the sweat-drenched hair from my forehead and then squeeze my palm. "It was just a dream. A bad dream, nothing more. You'll be alright. Sleep. Just sleep."  
Then I fell into darkness again, as if falling down the rabbit hole into a twisted world of horrors, where rabbits line their lairs with human bodies, bodies of young girls, all piled up on top of one another.

At times, when I was capable of thinking even if I could not lift my eyelids, I thought of Edward. The things Angela thinks, which somehow I couldn't reconcile with the boy, however strange, scary and violent, whose hand I felt holding mine and whose voice kept whispering to me that I'll pull through. And I thought of the dreams, where Bree was ever-recurring, ever the same, sadness and loneliness that turned into horror that tied my hands and legs, glued my lids together, choked me with my powerlessness to escape it. And then once there came sudden calm, the sensation of somebody other than Edward touching me for the hand was warm and I forced my eyes to open for a second – and I glimpsed a stranger beside Edward, a towering, beautiful man with melancholy eyes who gave me a soothing smile and took my palm; afterwards, I felt a little stronger, a little better, the burning pain in the left part of my body gone, swallowed by sleep that was no longer fitful and exhausting, but which cradled me and swayed me gently like a leaf on a serene water. It was odd then, but I felt no fear in those seconds I saw them there – and when the stranger touched me, it filled me with peace at last.  
For a moment, just for a split second, I thought the beautiful stranger was an angel that came to carry me away, into the light.

xxx

This way it went on and on, nightmares giving way to floating on peaceful water, until I gradually grew strong enough to wake up fully and keep my eyes open, but as I did, a flash of sharp light blinded me and regaining my sight, I saw an elderly nurse smacking a young man's head with folded newspaper left and right with a verve: "Out! Out with you, she's just a child and she's just had her surgery, have you got no shame? Security! Security, get him out!"  
The thing that blinded me was apparently the flash of a camera; the young man was unceremoniously dragged away by a burly security guard whilst the nurse argued with him and slammed the door in his face.  
Machines and monitors beeped and blinked around me; I had prongs in my nose and tubes and needles everywhere. Was this the ICU?  
"Oh, awake, honey?" she gave me a wide, motherly smile. "You gave us quite a fright!"  
"What happened?" I murmured. My throat was parched and ached. I felt lightheaded and weak.  
"You suffered internal bleeding and had to have a surgery. You had a seizure during it, but thanks to God we've brought you back. We shouldn't have let you go home on Monday at all!" she shook her head, her hands on her hips. Then her face softened and she smiled again. "Now dear, how do you feel?"  
"Thirsty."  
"Of course you are, honey – let me help you." She came to me and handed me a plastic cup of water.  
"What was that guy doing there?" I asked as I drank up.  
"Oh, somebody tipped off the press," she frowned like a Devil, "It's a mayhem here now! You know, they're making it into a big cautionary tale about cyber bullying and all. Been quite tough to keep all those vultures out of here! I really wonder who told them it was you who stood up for that poor dear."  
"How is she? Ginny?" I asked, battling with the fog in my brain and the weight of my eyelids. "If you can tell me?"  
She saddened and then forced herself to smile. "Don't you worry about that now, honey, rest, focus on yourself, okay?"  
That alarmed me. I grasped her hand. "What's wrong? Was she hurt?"  
"Sweetie, shhh, calm down-"  
"Was she hurt?"  
She gave me a careworn look. "Sweetheart... I'm afraid she's gone."  
I sprang up to sit, but the tubes held me in place and she pushed me back down. "Gone – how?"  
"Oh, there, there, honey, be a good girl, lie still, or you'll get injured." She sighed and patted my hair. "She didn't know that video got deleted, honey, I think – it must have been the last drop. She hanged herself, dearie."  
I flitted over the room with my eyes, not seeing much; numbly I noted her name tag. Nurse Sheonagh MacFayden. And I felt nothing. I just thought of Ginny, of Julia jumping out of the window at school and her broken body way down below on the ground. It was very easy for her bones to shatter into pieces, too, like Ginny's – and she _was_ this broken, like a beautiful china vase that after falling from up high turns into shards, destroyed beyond recognition. Slipped through my fingers. I didn't catch her.  
I didn't catch her.  
I shut my eyelids tight.  
"Is dad here?" I asked eventually, gazing up at the nurse.  
She gave me an odd glance. She looked uncomfortable. "No, honey," she murmured.  
"Could you wake me up when he comes?"  
"Sure, honey," she promised and averted her eyes. "Just, don't worry about anything, okay? You're gonna be alright. Everything's gonna be alright. Now, I've got something for you that might cheer you up," she gave me a conspiratorial smile, winked at me and brought me a small packet, on the top of which there was inserted a posy of lilies of the valley, tied on a small envelope with a thin bast twine. "Can you guess who just left this for you?"  
I reached for it slowly and she smiled again, this time with contentment. I pulled out the envelope with hesitation and flew over the lines inside with my eyes.

 _Not sure if anybody will bring you notes, so I made you a copy of mine. Yesterday there was a History quiz, but don't worry about it, Mr. Kane said you can write it when you go back to school.  
I hope you didn't mind me being there. Just figured somebody should. Good luck getting better._

 _E._

There was a stack of photocopied notes from a week and a half's worth of lessons, all neatly organized and easy to use, with underlined passages in the notes from History. And at the bottom I found another thing. A book. Annie Dillard's _Pilgrim at Tinker Creek_. A small smile flitted over my mouth, though my feelings were mixed as I took it out and read the cover. On the first blank page at the top right, there were Edward's initials and a date and place of buying, _22/7/2005, Venice_. I slid over them with my fingers. As I was reading, somewhere from the middle there fell out a leaflet of pressed out fern. I lifted it and studied it, slowly turning it around in my fingers before my eyes; it was very fragile and probably very old – it was so dry it was starting to lose its colour and with careless handling would turn into dust. I put it back in.  
"He keeps coming here," she told me in a half-voice, still smiling, and fluffing up my pillow. "Keeps asking me how you are doing. He even brings over a healer – I never believed in that stuff, but I guess I should think about it again. You really got better after a couple of his visits. We nearly lost you, dearie – but now I think you got a fighting chance. You speak and you move – it's a little miracle. We didn't think you'll be able to."  
"A healer?"  
"Yeah. Some Garrett. Nice chap, smiles all the time, though he looks like a vagabond. So tall he could rob people in airplanes," she chuckled. "He had to go away for a week or two, but Edward said he'll bring him back if you need."  
Garrett. The one I thought to be Azrael. Perhaps he was an angel, but of a different kind. That kind that heals. And Edward brought him? Why? Why the flowers? Why the notes? Why all this attention?  
"Oh, by the way. Angela was here too a few times – she'll be really glad to know you're conscious at last."  
"Angela?"  
"Yes. You don't remember? Scared her proper, you did, when you collapsed. If she wasn't there, I don't think you'd have made it."  
I recalled then, vaguely, watching the Poirot movies with her, because she insisted she'll stay with me till dad comes home – when it got to some minutes after eleven, she called her mom and asked her to let her sleep over at our place. Sweet Angela.  
"How is she?"  
"Oh, as I say, she'll be alright as soon as she hears you are," Nurse MacFayden smiled. "I could text her for you if you want?"  
I nodded, feeling sleep come back. But knowing now the man called Garrett was the one who stopped my nightmares and was away for some time, I dreaded it.  
And I was right. Bree was there, at the same place, and so were the bodies of girls and so were the eyes of dead fish. But something changed about these dreams, because there were also happy moments – and also moments of even greater horror. I saw Bree humming with a smile as she tried on a sparkling, indigo tulle evening dress; I saw her twirl around in it and hold it up on a hanger before herself once again after she took it off and just before she headed to the cash desk to pay. I saw her head out and smile at somebody in surprise – and then the terror returned, and the paralysis, the complete powerlessness.

I don't know exactly how many days I spent in the ICU. It felt like ages. I kept waiting for dad to appear, but he must have come when I was asleep; I didn't want to think about the other possibility. It was too painful. When I heard Nurse MacFayden talking about it with another one, I tried to stop my ears with my pillow. Still I understood what they said, every word.  
"Say what you will, Peggy, to drag that poor girl home from hospital and then leave her there alone till midnight like that is pretty darn irresponsible," I caught Nurse MacFayden's indomitable voice. "She was _this_ close to dying of that bleeding! And don't tell me it's right he leaves her here all alone, too! Police Chief or not, he's not that busy, not even with all this media circus. Guilty conscience, that's what it is, I tell you! Were it not for Dr. Cullen's boy bringing her flowers and school stuff and that Angela girl coming here every once in a while, she'd be put away here forgotten like a broken toy in the attic. Would you not give two hoots about your own kids like that?"  
"Not me, you can bet." This voice I couldn't quite place with surety, but it sounded somewhat familiar – I looked through the glass in the door and saw a young nurse who tended to me in the ER lean against it with her shoulder, holding a steaming cup. Nurse MacFayden mirrored her pose. "It's kinda weird. I'd have thought with how he rushed to get to her that Monday he'd be here all the time."  
"He was here _once_ since she came here, Peggy," Nurse MacFayden grumbled. "Let me tell you, rotten luck that her momma died on her like that! She'd need one more than ever now."  
"She's got Edward at least," Nurse Peggy drank up and then leant forward to Nurse MacFayden with eagerness. "I wonder where did the two meet and how long do they know each other? C'mon, I never saw Dr. Cullen's boy dating anyone."  
"Waited for the right one I guess. Pity she's not gonna be here long. Like the boy's cursed, or something."  
"Or the whole family, if you think about it," Peggy added. "Sure they're rich, but I wouldn't swap places with them for anything."  
"Me neither."  
"Maybe that's why he went after an ill girl?" Peggy suggested, stirring the liquid in her cup and drinking up again. "Did you know?" she asked dreamily after a while, leaning her head against the glass. "That he carried her to the infirmary in his arms? The whole way across the campus?"  
"Did he?" There was rapture in Nurse MacFayden's voice.  
"Yeah," Peggy's voice quivered a little with emotion, equally rapturous, as she smiled and shook her head a little: "If you saw them together on Monday, how he was holding her hand when he brought her here... gosh it was so sweet I thought I'd cry."  
Nurse MacFayden sighed. "I know. It was the same here when she was unconscious. Day after day. Night after night, but don't tell on me I let him in."  
Peggy shook her head quickly, as if that was a matter of course.  
Nurse MacFayden sighed again. "Pity. Such a lovely girl. They make such a beautiful couple."  
"And is it sure, that...?"  
"Couple of months, maybe a year. That Mayor's girl mauled her over proper and sped it up. She needs a new heart, but she's had two already. Dr. Cullen thinks there's not much chance a third transplantation would be a success."  
Peggy grimaced. "That's horrible, Sheonagh."  
"Whatever they say, Edward's a nice boy," Nurse MacFayden mused decisively, stirring her cup. "Show me another boy his age these days that would take care about his ill girlfriend as he does."  
"True enough. But Chief Swan didn't look too happy to see him with her," Peggy noted and Nurse MacFayden snorted.  
"He should be glad _somebody_ gives a damn about her when he doesn't!"  
I wished I could curl up into a tight ball, but the tubes still sticking out of me like I was a pincushion wouldn't let me.  
When Bree came to me again, I was almost glad to see her. Glad to not to be awake. But in those moments I was, I kept searching for her. Angela came almost every day once I was fit enough for longer visits and brought me my things, my Smartphone with them. Thanks to that I discovered there was a detail she has not told me. That Bree was raped before she was killed.  
I was chilled to the bone, recalling her sad eyes in my dreams, her aura of being utterly lost and alone. And so I searched. Was it to give those haunted eyes some peace? Was it to give Angela closure? Or because I had to be sure of the truth myself?  
Meanwhile, Nurse MacFayden supplied me with news about Ginny's funeral, the inquest, the seat that was shaking not only under Lauren's father the Mayor, not only under the school Principal, but also under my dad. And she supplied me with flowers and notes from lessons that kept coming in, even if I never saw Edward now, neither during the day nor during the night.

Sometimes, unwelcome, came the thought why my dad would not open a case of assault against Lauren, but felt no fear accusing a millionaire doctor's son. One drunkard's testimony was a pretty weak proof to fry such a fish on. It made no sense. Did he have any evidence Angela didn't know about, or didn't tell me? Was Edward really, demonstrably guilty, but some greasing of someone's palm got the soldier in the noose instead? Were Edward's shenanigans the reason why dad was so sceptical about getting anybody with power and money punished?  
I found Bree's Facebook account. I read through the posts, all open to public, trying to piece together a feeling of what she was like. She was great at Scrabble and used to win spelling competitions; she liked to collect everything with the motive of dragonflies; she loved to write and dreamed to make it big one day, dreamed that the first e-book she was putting together would open the doors of the world to her, so that she would get out, anywhere was good, so long it wasn't here.  
If she was having a lunch at the diner in Forks, she posted a selfie there; if she went grocery shopping, argued with her dad, walked her dog, it was there like an hourly diary, left for the whole world to see, for anybody who wished to harm her to track her down. Was it like screaming to the world: _"I matter"_?  
The last post was from the diner on the day she died, where she talked about going to Port Angeles again, because on her last trip with Angela the boutique with her dream dress in the shop window closed just minutes before she got to it. She wrote there she's not sure why she wants to buy it or why she even goes there when her date turned her down – Angela consoled her in the comments.  
 _Just forget about that weirdo, honey,_ she wrote. _He's just a stuck up bastard._ _Get the dress, we need no guy to have a blast._  
To that she didn't reply, at least not in the comments.  
What struck me as strange though was just how much she shared about herself on those pages, down to the size of her bra. That sent a shiver down my spine. Any creep pretending to be a girl... giving her a bit of attention... Jesus Christ! It would have been so easy to lure her somewhere on the pretext of meeting up for shopping. Any of those commenters on her profile could have been Edward, or that soldier, or anyone else in real life, any of those could have been the one who raped and murdered her. It was probably a vain work, but I started noting the most frequent ones, the ones that seemed weirdest. But it took a long time, because even though Angela told me she was lonely, and I could see it in her posts, she had over a thousand Facebook friends.  
And something just kept bugging me. The fact that she went shopping for the dress, for a very specific dress, but it wasn't found on her, though all her other things laid near her body, and the fact that there was no mention whatsoever in the press about the shop or any of the shop assistants being questioned. Did Bree never make it there? Their testimony wasn't interesting for the newspapers? Where was the dress?  
Because I was sure deep down she had bought it. Because I had known nothing about any dress when I saw it in my dreams.

One early afternoon, it was either Saturday or Sunday, I forgot, Nurse MacFayden brought in lilacs, purple and white, their sweet scent heady and overpowering; coming in, she smiled from ear to ear, eyes glowing with mischief.  
When I took them from her, I tensed up and my guts twisted in me, as if somebody poured icy water over me.  
"What's wrong?" the nurse frowned in concern. "You look so pale, dearie, as if you saw a ghost. Are you sick?"  
I shook my head.  
"Have you two argued that he doesn't come in?" Nurse MacFayden asked as she was putting the lilacs in the vase. She flashed me a smile. "Whatever it was about, I'm sure he's sorry, honey. He's waiting outside – would you like to see him?"  
Technically speaking, I saw him. I had a very good view of him, as he stood near the wall in front of my room, waiting. He looked collected as ever, but for once, there was a careful tinge of tenderness to his eyes and mouth, bereft of tension, mixed with a heavy dose of melancholy. He gave me a slow, small, cautious smile.  
Angela coming in saved me from having to reply. And she looked as pale as a ghost herself and paled even more when she saw the lilacs.  
"Hello Nurse, hi Bella," she attempted a smile and Nurse MacFayden reined in disappointment.  
"Hi, Angela – alright, I'll leave you two girls alone, have a nice chat!"  
As soon as she was away, Angela quickly sat down beside me. "He's coming here to see you?"  
I didn't feel ready to talk about that, because I didn't know myself how I felt about it all. I didn't know what to say. On the one hand, he kept his distance – on the other, if ever there was a quiz or test, if ever there was an essay or other kind of homework, he would let me know, highlighting in his notes the important passages, sometimes marking those which appeared in the test questions. When I returned the _Pilgrim_ through Nurse MacFayden with thanks, he sent back Rilke. Most of all his care made me sad.  
Before I mustered any kind of reply, she urged me: "Bella, stay away from him. Look at Bree, long dark brown hair, dark brown eyes, pale – can't you see you two are of a type?"  
Yes, I could see. It was one of the things that kept nagging at my brain, one of the things that haunted me in my dreams – and strangely, it was also one of the things that kept telling me something is off, only I couldn't think up what.  
"He doesn't come in." Not anymore at least. And not yet. "He just brings me flowers."  
"Jesus, if I were your dad, I'd file a restraining order! Bella please, just tell the nurses to not to let him near you, please! Do you want to end up like Bree?"  
At that I heard an uncomfortable and familiar clearing of a throat. Dad was standing in the doorframe and casting a glare behind his back, where I could make out Edward's cool face, lip curled up in a crooked smirk, arms crossed on his chest. He looked like his icy self again.  
"As for that restraining order, I'm tempted to consider it," dad grunted and came in, closing the door behind him. "Hello, Angela."  
"Hello, Chief Swan." Angela blushed in unease.  
"It's great you came to see my girl. Just I'd be obliged to you if you stuck to something lighter, I dunno, like clothes or celebs or whatever you girls are interested in. I don't want her to get upset again, okay?"  
Angela quickly nodded, springing up to her feet. "I'll see you later, Bella, okay?"  
I nodded and smiled at her, squeezing her hand. "Yeah, thanks for coming."  
And through that glass in the door, I could see Edward was watching us with a fixed stare, leant against the wall and motionless like a statue, the smirk full of mockery still on his lips.

Dad didn't stay long – hospitals have always been making him uncomfortable. Or was it Edward's unblinking eyes? Or me?  
But he grabbed the bouquet of lilacs and threw it into a waste bin right before Edward's eyes, staring him down. Edward straightened up and held his glare, his eyes freezing and inscrutable. It was dad who broke the contact first. Then Edward nodded to me, his face softening for a millisecond, and went away.  
"You know, dearie, your dad has forbidden that we'd let Edward see you," Nurse MacFayden told me the following day and then winked at me, pulling a small posy of white violets from behind her back. "But this does not strictly count as him seeing you, does it?"  
Somehow picturing Edward pick those violets and wind around them the leaves and the grass struck me as immensely odd. It was old-fashioned. It was nostalgic. It was... personal. I took them from her and twirled them slowly in my fingers. When I smelled them, the scent of grass was so fresh it still drowned out the perfume of the flowers.  
"Can you put them into water, please?"  
"Of course, dearie – and in case your father comes in, just hide it in the nightstand," she winked again.  
"Nurse?"  
"Yes, honey?" she smiled at me, arranging the bouquet in the vase.  
"Could you bring Edward to me, if he's still here?"  
Her face melted in an enormous smile. "Of course, honey – right away!"  
"Wait –" I stopped her when she was at the door and she half-turned back, "could you please keep this secret from dad?"  
She winked and grinned. "Don't you worry, honey!"  
He came in, shoulders quite rigid, jacket folded over his arm. We stared at each other for a while. His eyes were cold as usually.  
"Hi," I said.  
"Hi."  
Silence hung then in the air, thick and oppressive. He stood very still as was his wont; no fidgeting. No gratuitous movement. His eyes born deep in mine, unflinching, studying me. As if he was always on his guard, always observing, always thinking.  
"Thanks. For the notes and the flowers. And for Garrett."  
He smiled a little. It didn't make his eyes any warmer. "I just want you to get better. No need to thank me."  
I didn't know what to say to that at first. I blinked and looked away, unable to bear his stare.  
"Are you?" he asked in a softened voice. I glanced at him and saw his face had softened, too. "Better?"  
I made myself smile. "Yeah. Much better, thanks."  
"You've got nightmares," he noted. "What about? The attack?"  
I took a deep breath and crossed looks with him. "Bree Tanner."  
He stiffened and the hint of emotion in his face was gone. He straightened up, watching me coldly. "I see."  
I waited for him to say more, anything, but he kept silent.  
"What did Bree blackmail you with?"  
He pressed his lips together and clenched his jaws, evaluating me. "Why?" he asked eventually and crossed his arms on his chest. "It doesn't matter now. She is dead anyway."  
"Yes, she's dead. And that's exactly why it matters," I countered, jerking up. At once he was by my side and pushed me down, frowning like a Devil.  
"Lie down."  
"No!" I pushed him away and tried to rise again, but he gripped my wrists hard sitting down by my side and frowning even harder, while I pushed against him. His grip only grew firmer.  
"Lie down, you'll rip the IV drip out!"  
I stopped to struggle with him and we both breathed hard for a moment, glaring at each other. He let go and straightened up, cold and unreadable again.  
"You want to know if I killed Bree."  
I gave him a firm stare. "Yes."  
"Foolish," he snarled, knitting his brows. "If you think I did it it's pretty suicidal to ask me."  
"I haven't got that much to lose, have I?" I murmured and his anger slowly abated at that. He looked at me thoughtfully.  
"So that's your angle?" he mused, tilting his head to the side. "That you can ask, unlike Angela, because you stand with one foot in the grave anyway?"  
I laid down, closing my eyes momentarily, looked at him and nodded. He thought it over.  
"And if I told you I didn't do it, would you believe me?"  
I stared at him without flinching. "Yes."  
He narrowed his eyes and inclined his head back, studying me. "Why?"  
"I don't know," I admitted, but briefly, the cool tenderness with which he treated me when I was battered, alone and helpless at school came to my mind. "I can picture you killing somebody. You wouldn't give it a second thought if there was some kind of danger. But, something in my guts just can't see you raping anyone."  
He slowly nodded. Then he sighed and took my hand, interlacing his fingers with mine, looking at them. "And you know that because I could have very easily raped you on Monday if I wanted – and likely would have gotten away with it, right?" he asked silently and shot a glance in my eyes. "It's not like your dad would have pressed charges, would he? Not like you have anybody to protect you, just like Bree?"  
I gave a nod, shuddering.  
He looked down on our joint hands again, seeming to think with an expression that was difficult to read. As if he was torn. What was it in his face? Sadness? Reluctance? Regret, like the asphodel had hinted?  
"Fine," he gazed at me, calm and cold again. He extricated his fingers, gave my hand a gentle squeeze and stood up. "Get well. When you do, I'll show you what Bree has seen."  
"Edward?" I asked him as he was about to go out. He turned around, raising his eyebrow in question. "Say it."  
"I didn't kill Bree, Bella," he said, looking into my eyes, very serious. "Nor did I rape her."  
Then he wavered a moment and eventually quickly came over to me and drew the knuckles of my fingers to his lips. Their skin was cool, but in the gesture was reluctant warmth. He sat down beside me, wrapping his fingers around my palm and looking me in the eyes. "We didn't start off well, Bella. I have a lot of demons that haunt me and I am difficult to like or be with. But I think, you and I, we could get each other." He stroked my palm with his thumb and looked down. "I don't know why, but you and that girl with crutches, you made me think what I have become." He started drawing circles on my skin, very gently, while he looked up and off to the side as if his mind was miles away. "She could have lived," he added pensively. "I could have stopped it, it would have been nothing. I just never noticed her enough to care. Or anybody else, for that matter. Strange, but it's the first time in a long time that I feel guilty." Then he looked at me with a small smile, squeezing my hand lightly. There was a touch of humour in his eyes. "So you can take this as my atonement for nearly a lifetime of not caring."  
I smiled back uncertainly and he, as if encouraged by that, leant in, his smile growing and brightening up his face and eyes, and cradled my cheek in his hand. I jerked away and the shine vanished, he withdrew his hand, balling it, and hung his head, clenching his jaw and swallowing. "Sorry," he murmured. "Been a long time since I last felt interested in anybody. I forgot you are still scared of me. Not that I can't see why," he raked his fingers through his hair.  
"Sorry," I muttered, uneasy. Part of me wanted him to kiss me, as he was probably about to. What did I have to lose, really? In his own cold way, he seemed considerate. He had issues, bad issues – he was strange, damaged, had some serious baggage probably. He was aggressive. But in this brief moment, I glimpsed he could be warm also. According to that nurses' chat I had months, perhaps a year. Not more, most likely. And he knew. And still he had leant in to kiss me. Still he came to the hospital with flowers. And when he kissed my fingers and when he smiled at me and meant it, my heart went galloping. Damaged. Difficult. Haunted by demons. Cold on the surface. But loving, deep down. "What was it that Bree has seen? Can't you show me now?"  
He considered it. Then he looked at me. "Are you sure you want to know?"  
I nodded.  
He deliberated about it for a while further, straightening up and studying me, leant on one hand. "She had a proof that my mother is insane," he said reluctantly and bent forward, hanging his head and bracing his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands and rubbing them slowly against one another. His shoulders hunched and he looked tired. "One day, she came to our house on her bike and saw my mother leaping at a rabbit and trying to suck its blood. Mother gnawed on it and then suddenly smashed a window with it, laughing as she does when she's not herself, it's something between a laugh and a wail. Then she would pound the glass, over and over, until the shards cut her hard and made her bleed and my brother Emmett came out to restrain her and lead her home." He glanced at me. "Bree caught this on her phone and told me she'll delete it if I go with her to the dance. If I don't, she'd put it on her Facebook." He straightened up again, taking a deep breath, and raked both his hands through his hair. Then he crossed his arms on his chest and stared off into the wall, eyebrows slightly knit. "I told her where she can stuff it, but she insisted she'll do it if I don't go with her. So the logic of your father and at least half of the town went I killed her in a fit of temper when she refused to delete it when I told her I won't go with her. But that theory has got one dent in it. And that dent is she didn't refuse to do that," he gazed at me. "And that I didn't tell her I won't."  
I took a deep breath and massaged my temples. The dress. The dress. Her humming, her smiling. She was happy. She was happy.  
"You okay?"  
"Yeah," I took a deep breath and looked at him. "Sure. Go on."  
"I did pick her up at the diner and she did come with me to my car, Old Hopkins was right. I had cooled down, I wanted to talk it through with her. But she just apologised first thing as she sat down, broke down into crying and said she's sorry, that she doesn't know what's got into her that she blackmailed me. She said she won't tell anybody and that she's sorry that my mother's ill like that. I told her then I'd go to the dance with her."  
He paused for a moment, studying me, whilst I gave him an intent stare, tense and impatient for the denouement.  
He shrugged. "I dropped her in front of the mall and told her to have fun shopping for the dress. I asked if she wants me to give her a lift home but she said she'll take the bus, that she doesn't want anybody to see us on friendly terms, so it would be a surprise and she'd see Lauren's and Jessica's jaws hit the floor. She gave me a hug and went away, turning around once, waving and beaming at me a smile. And that's the last I saw of her."  
I processed it for a long time. His face was stone-like, matter-of-factual.  
"She deleted the video?"  
He nodded, shrugging. "But she sent it to me first and I kept it. I had my reasons and sorry, I don't want to talk about them now. Maybe I'll explain it to you one day, but not now. Do you feel like seeing it?"  
I thought about it and shook my head. "Just show me the file, but don't play it. I'll believe you."  
He took his Smartphone out of his jeans, searched a couple of seconds and showed it to me.  
"Can you show me the properties?"  
He did.  
The video was taken on 1st April 2007. Four days before she was murdered. And sent and received on 5th, the day of her death.  
The author was Bree.  
"Okay," I whispered. "I trust you. I trust you. And Nurse MacFayden?"  
He put the phone back into his pocket. "I did give her a ride to Seattle. Only it was some fifteen or twenty minutes later than she claimed. But given the approximate hour of Bree's death it didn't really matter, so she lied for me, just to get your dad off my back quickly."  
I frowned, but accepted it. "Why did you go to Seattle that day?"  
"The same reason why I went there that day you and I met. For transfusion."  
"Transfusion?"  
"I've got porphyria, Bella. Just like my parents and siblings."  
Porphyria. The anaemic pallor. His mother's insanity. His reclusiveness. It started to make sense. "Jesus Christ."  
"We don't like to talk about it, though a lot of people here know I suspect. So we get it in Seattle unless we need it really quickly."  
"Then you had the medical staff who could testify that at the time of her murder-"  
He slightly nodded and shrugged. "And they would if it was necessary, as would the CCTV on the ferry. But your dad really had nothing. He just hoped the spoilt rich boy will crumble under a bit of pressure and false threats. I have to say your dad's not a very good cop, for a Police Chief."  
I thought about it all for a long while, not paying attention to the jibe about my dad. "I'm sorry about your mum, Edward," I started carefully.  
He hung his head and rubbed his face with his hand.  
I wavered for a moment and then I said: "My mum had the bipolar disorder." He slowly looked at me, whilst I bit my lip, battling the urge to touch him and comfort him. "And my best friend had schizophrenia. It wasn't anything as extreme as your mother, but..." I reached for his hand and clasped it, "I think I know a thing or two about what it's like to see the one you love suffer. And not to be able to do anything much about it."  
He looked at our linked hands and gently kissed me on the knuckles. "Yeah," he murmured, weaving his fingers through mine. "I'd bet you do." He wavered a moment, tracing the line of my thumb with his index finger. "Did you ever wish to have something you knew you'll never have, Bella?" he raised his head again and looked at me.  
"Yep. Why?"  
"What was it?"  
I shrugged. "Normal life, I guess. Mum and dad who live together and love each other. Best friend that doesn't die in her teens. Heart that I won't pay a second thought to until I'm fifty or sixty and hypochondriac," I flashed a smile at him and he chuckled a bit, showing a row of strong, white teeth with slightly prominent canines, and that shine returned, his eyes even sparkled. I felt myself smiling unwittingly in response. When he was chuckling like that, he seemed so much more human and approachable.  
"What do you want that you'll never have?" I asked him with a grin and he smiled again, his eyes still twinkling.  
"Same as you I guess," he said after a moment of watching me. But his gaze was different from the one with which he usually scrutinised me. I didn't feel like it was trying to penetrate my mind. It was warm and even a little teasing. "Just a bit of a normal life."  
I stopped to smile then. I swallowed. I brought my fingers, shaking a bit, to his temple. I lost resolve there for a moment and stopped – but then I slipped them into his hair. He closed his eyes and raised his head, swallowing. With my heart in my throat, I slid down to his cheek and swept my thumb over it. That shaking didn't go away though. He pressed my palm to his face and then swiftly leant in and kissed me. He caressed the outline of my face with his fingertips while my head spun from the intensity, from the touch of his lips, unexpectedly warm now. I don't know why, but I started to cry and he kissed those tears away, returning to my mouth and pulling me close in a frenzy, until I gasped in pain and he abruptly stopped, drew me away and checked the tubes – one came nearly undone from the pressure and he gently laid his palm under it, resting his forehead against mine and closing his eyes, struggling with his breathing just like me.  
More tears spilled out and he brushed them away ever-so-softly.  
"Sorry," I whispered. "I dunno why I'm bawling-"  
"Shh," he put his finger on my mouth, still battling with his breathing. "I get it. It's been too much, right? Too much to deal with. Just cry it out. All day if you want. I'm here."  
But instead I just kissed him with all the pain that was in me, like what was building up in me since I've lost Julia and mum had spiralled out of control and finally found a vent, and he responded as intensely, but this time with much greater care not to cause any damage, running his fingers through my hair. His smelled of sandal wood and spices. And it was thick, a little coarse, unyielding.  
"Normal life. Maybe we're each other's chance at that, Bella," he murmured near my lips as we calmed down, taking my cheeks in his hands, and kissed me again, in a way that was sweet and tender.  
Then we heard some people coming in and some man cleared his throat. Edward sharply looked back, straightening up and his shoulders growing rigid. In the split second I could see his face before he turned it, I saw his eyes flared up in defiance and fury – and could it have been outright hatred?  
"I apologise for the intrusion," Dr. Cullen said in his posh, cultured voice, giving us a charming smile whose joviality seemed a little forced, while two young medics craned their necks to look in over his shoulder and Nurse MacFayden following them gave us an apologetic shrug. "But I am afraid it is a time for a ward round."  
"Hello, father," Edward said and gripped my hand in both his, putting it on his lap, intertwining his fingers with mine. In the glass I could see the reflection of the hard glare he directed up at the suave, handsome blonde doctor.  
"I think it's time to let Miss Swan rest a little, son," Dr. Cullen said still with that charming smile on his pallid face. There was a very slight tension to his lower jaw and a hint of concern in his eyes. But he quickly masked it with affable humour. "We might be transferring her to the ward today and I daresay for one day that's quite enough of excitement."  
Edward brought my hand to his lips and kissed it, still staring into his father's eyes with that same defiance bordering on hatred. Then he turned around to me, took my cheek into his palm and whispered into my ear: "Take care. I'll be back. It will be alright. Call me if you need anything," he rummaged in his pocket, scribbled his number on a piece of paper and handed it to me.  
I nodded a little and he kissed my temple, picked up his jacket that had fallen down on the ground previously and went away, brushed by Dr. Cullen with a cold, angry lopsided smirk; as he did, his father and him locked their eyes. In Edward's case it was like stabbing the older man with his glare. There was such fury in it, such passion it was nearly palpable. The two medics didn't seem to know where to look. Once he was behind Dr. Cullen, he gave a smile to Nurse MacFayden, shaking her hand, and she beamed at him, giving me a happy look when he was going away, her eyes moistening with emotion.  
He stopped for a second and looked at me through the blinds-covered side window facing the corridor; but when his father gave him a pointed look, he clenched his jaw, set off and vanished.  
"Now, Miss Swan, how do you feel?" Dr. Cullen came nearer and smiled at me. "Well enough to be transferred?"

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 _Author's note: As always, thanks a lot to everyone who has read, reviewed and subscribed to this fic:-) If you are interested, you can check my profile for updates on it. Have a great day!_


	7. The Others

Four days later, some hour before it was time to lie through another IV drip session, when I went out to take a short walk on the corridor, I saw Dr. Cullen and Edward arguing violently about something; Edward stabbed the air with his hand in the direction of my room, growling something in fury into the doctor's face and swung on his heel to march away, but Dr. Cullen grabbed him by his upper arm and yanked him back, forcing him to turn around. Edward snarled something and yanked himself free, spitting something into his father's face again, and stormed off.  
"Edward!" Dr. Cullen shouted after him, but Edward barked back something I couldn't understand and marched on, throwing his schoolbag over his shoulder. Dr. Cullen shook his head, breathing heavily, and smoothed his hair back in one frustrated motion. Then he saw me, forced himself to smile and went into one of the rooms.  
I hesitated a little while. Then I went towards the atrium. I hoped I'd find Edward there.  
The atrium was actually a large indoor garden with a fountain with goldfish and koi carps in its centre and with skylight; it was tranquil and beautiful and Nurse MacFayden told me patients love to meet with their families there, rather than in the rooms. And that Edward, especially, loves to go there if ever he is in the hospital and argues with his father.  
I found him sitting on a bench by a small pool in a bubbling stream, eyes miles away, jaw clenched, clutching the edge of the bench with his hands so he nearly crushed its wood.  
"Hello," I told him softly.  
He didn't react.  
"It's a lovely garden," I said and he looked around as if awoken from a series of ugly thoughts. Then he stood up and nodded.  
"Oh – yeah. Mother designed it."  
"Your mother designs gardens?"  
"In the few moments she's lucid," he replied, grim, looking up to watch the koi play hide and seek. "It's one of the things that soothe her. Beautiful flowers. Nature. She detests city life." But then he snapped out of his angry gloom a little, straightening up and looking at me. "Your hair. It's still wet," he noted, studying the ends of strands.  
I tucked it beyond my ear. "Yeah, I just got out of shower." I didn't know where to look.  
"Yeah," he cleared his throat. "I see." He looked away and dug out of his schoolbag a garnet red thermo tumbler, unscrewed the lid and drank up. "Wanna sit down with me for a bit?"  
I nodded and perched beside him. "How's your mum?"  
He shrugged and ran his hand through his hair, shutting his eyes tight, shoulders sagged and worn out. "Up and down. Sorry, I... I don't really want to talk about it right now."  
"Okay," I cleared my throat. "Sure."  
After a moment, he glanced at me. "It's nice to see you walk on your own again."  
"Better than carrying me around, huh?" I teased.  
He smiled at me a little. "Sure. When you walk on your own, you can choose _where_ you want to walk."  
I blinked and looked away. He slowly put his hand near mine on the bench, but he stopped before touching me. His fingertips stayed an inch away from mine. I felt the awkwardness keenly, tying my hands and tongue – and his, likewise.  
In the end, he murmured: "You know, when your whole life's messed up, it's tough to find the right words to say and the right things to do. And I don't want to mess this up."  
My heart was beating hard and fast. "Yeah. Let's take it slow then," I muttered and he looked in my eyes.  
"Yeah." His voice was a little strained.  
"Saw you with your father. What was it about?"  
"You." He shrugged, distant. "He's not too happy about the prospect we might start dating."  
I leant against the crook between the backrest and armrest more comfortably. "Why?" I asked. "Because you're rich and I'm not?"  
"No. He's more concerned about you, at least he says so."  
"Why? Cause you've got a short fuse and tend to break windows with lab tables, or because you make shrinks go mad?"  
He chuckled and leant back, bracing his arm on the backrest of the bench. "Who told you? Your father?"  
I smirked and mirrored his pose, nodding. "The first day I met you."  
"At least some part of his parenting job he does right."  
I frowned. "He tries, Edward."  
"You love him?"  
That puzzled me a little and I shook my head, knitting my eyebrows. "Sure. Why?"  
He shook his head and snorted, looking away. He massaged his forehead with his fingers, thinking and drinking up from his thermo mug.  
I shivered and he instantly looked at me. "Cold?" he asked with concern.  
"Yeah," I admitted, drawing my kimono dressing gown closer and feeling goose bumps spring up on my skin. "A bit."  
He shut the mug, put it down, stood up, slid his jacket off and wrapped it around me. We stared at each other for a second. He traced the line of my cheek with the back of his fingers with a strange expression, as if he was sorry for something. "Yeah, I guess he tries," he murmured. "But – not enough."  
And then he hugged me for a long while and held me, saying nothing, until his phone beeped.  
"Mother," he said as he checked it, frowning, his eyes weary and sad. He looked at me. "Sorry. I got to go."  
"Sure," I nodded and brushed away an invisible speck from his shoulder, clearing my throat. "Go."  
"I'll see you to your room, okay?"  
"Okay. Thanks."  
We walked side by side, pinkies nearly touching – but neither of us made the final move to take the other's hand, until we were almost at my room's door; there I took his and squeezed it tight.

xxx

What Angela had said combined with the dreams didn't let me sleep easily. Of a type. What if it didn't start with Bree? What if Bree was not the first victim?

Edward has not showed up since that last time, though he continued to send fresh flowers nearly every day; he wrote me his mother was so unwell he couldn't leave her side for a minute. And so I used that abundant spare time, when Angela was not with me, to search on for the others.

I've started browsing various databases of missing persons, from the FBI one to the _National Center for Missing and Exploited Children_ , narrowing it down to girls missing in Washington within the current and last decade. I've found four that fit the bill.  
Tammy Benjamin, 13, Olympia. Ran away from home in the middle of the night. Kerry Taylor, 15, Tacoma. Ran away from home. Samantha Donnelly, 16, Seattle. Ran away. Katie Jameson, 14, SeaTac. Ran away after an argument. All of them missing, listed as runaways. All of them had dark brown hair, dark brown eyes and pale skin. Tammy vanished in 1996, years before the Cullens moved to Forks from Alaska, but both Kerry and Samantha went missing the same year Edward and his siblings started to attend school here. Kerry, Samantha, Katie and Bree. Gone within a year. All of them unusually pretty, slender, not very tall, Caucasian, pale, from broken families, loners with few friends, introverted. Both Samantha and Kerry were bullied at school and this was the presumed reason of their escape. Katie had Asperger Syndrome. Tammy was wearing a ballet tutu on her photo.

The day of discharge came and I still searched, tried to figure out what dozens of people trained for it haven't, because I couldn't somehow bring myself to believe the soldier was guilty, either, despite his record was less than pristine and he had confessed. I think I did it also because it was helping me somehow to forget the gaping void in me left after mum.

xxx

I remembered from childhood dad likes sweets. He would tend to hover around the kitchen when mum was making apple pie, inhaling the scent – he could eat one whole pie in one sitting by himself and mum always laughed that eat he will, but help peel the apples he won't. Walking towards the station with a freshly baked pie, I wasn't sure what I'm trying to achieve. Remind him of what was good in the old times? Bridge the gap between us? Simply give him a cause to smile?  
But as I was sitting there on the edge of a bench on the corridor, I questioned myself whether it was such a good idea.  
Dad was busy. And the reason why he was busy was currently getting on the nerves of the Deputy Chief by lighting up a cigarette, several yards from me, in a corridor separated from the one where I waited by a glass door.  
"You can't smoke here, son," the Deputy Chief reprimanded him and Edward just smirked a cold, lopsided smirk, and threw the cigarette on the floor and snubbed it with his foot, staring the Deputy Chief down. The older man soon looked away and shook his head, muttering: "Spoilt brat." Then he came in and smiled at me. "Don't you worry, love, he'll be here soon. He'll just finish that questioning. Want some coffee, hun?"  
I shook my head, giving him an apologetic smile. "I can't," I tapped on the medical bracelet. "But thanks a lot, Mr. Cheney."  
"It's Walter for you, love – I used to play Santa for you every year, did you know?"  
I laughed. "So it was you? I never knew," I shook my head again. "I really thought you _are_ Santa and that it's great mum and dad got you to visit."  
We laughed at that together. "Oh my, you were a sweet kid, love! Nice to see you stayed that way, it's kinda rare these days."  
I smiled up at him and glanced down, tucking my hair behind my ear. Then I peered to the left and saw Edward watching us. As soon as he caught my gaze, he turned his head away. "What's he here for?" I nodded to him with my chin and the Deputy frowned and sighed.  
"Oh, him. He was just what was missing to complete a day of bliss, love. He brawled with his teacher in the library and the teacher wants him jailed for assault. But his daddy will bail him out anyway," he drank up from his coffee, "so Mr. Banner's just wasting our time." He let out another sigh.  
"What was that brawl all about?"  
The Deputy shrugged. "Search me. Mr. Banner went to pick a book from a shelf next to the one the lad was picking his from, and when Mr. Banner turned to go away, minding his own business, that nutcase grabbed him by his neck, lifted him up high and pinned him against the bookshelf so hard it fell and knocked down several other bookshelves like a domino. It was pure luck there were no people in that section, otherwise we'd have a lot more injured on our hands than just Mr. Banner. Nasty piece of work, this young man. Your dad told you about the lab table, right?"  
I nodded.  
"If you ask me, I think he's crazy, bipolar or something. Should be on lithium. He's been nothing but trouble since his folk came down here from Alaska." He glared at him and shook his head and then beamed at me. "But how about some tea, honey?"  
I gave him another apologetic smile, though the bipolar bit stung a little, as if he pricked my heart with a needle. "Sorry. Nothing with coffein."  
"Milk?" he tried with a bit of mischief in his eyes.  
I bit down bubbling laughter and shook my head again. "No dairy."  
"Okay. Water?"  
I chuckled and nodded. "Water sounds good, thank you."  
He leant down to me and patted my shoulder. "I'll be right back, honey." He straightened up and turned to Edward, pointing at him: "You behave yourself there, young man, okay?"  
Edward scoffed and as soon as the Deputy went away, he pulled his right foot up on the bench he was sitting on, braced his elbow on the bent knee and lit up another cigarette, stretching the other leg out and staring off as he smoked. He had not a single bruise or scuff on him and he looked lost in thoughts, indifferent; the only scratch on him was a slight tear on his black leather jacket and the fact his hair was one wild mess this time, rather than purposefully tousled the way it usually was.  
I attempted a smile and waved at him, but he didn't react; I had a feeling he doesn't see me. Or perhaps he did and for some reason chose to ignore me. It was difficult to tell. But it hurt.  
"Here, honey," Mr. Cheney came back with the water, hesitated and then said: "Look, I heard some people talking... honey, you're setting yourself up for trouble." He glanced back at Edward. "He's a bad lot, seriously. I get the bad boy appeal and all that, but..." he exhaled and shook his head, giving me a smile. "Well, you're a big girl, right? You'll decide for yourself. Still, take this from me as from a Deputy Chief – that boy's destined for the Death Row one day. Don't want you to cry your pretty eyes out."  
"Thanks for your concern," I murmured, avoiding looking at Edward. "I'll manage."  
"Uh... sure," he drank up and swallowed, contemplating something. "But well...It's kind of weird."  
"What's weird?"  
He shrugged one shoulder, sipping on his coffee. "How a boy in Junior High grabs a grown up guy and knocks down with him shelves full of books. Mind you, Mr. Banner's got some 220 pounds," he shook his head.  
I shrugged and took the glass of water from him with a nod of thanks, clearing my throat. In all honesty the image chilled me. I knew a thing or two about Edward's strength. But how much more did I know about him, really? "Is he here often?"  
"Depends on your definition of often. But if I never see his pretty face here again it will be too soon." He shook his head again, glancing at him, and then looked at me, drinking up. "If he was my son I'd send him to the army. That would straighten him out."  
"Will he go to prison for the attack?" I tried to sound casual, though I was anything but, puzzling over him, trying to make sense of this. Why did he do it? Why on Earth?  
"Honestly? Here comes his dad," he nodded to an elegant, beautiful blonde man in a long, expensive-looking beige coat that has rushed in, worried, and went to shake hands with dad, speaking with him in sotto voce; then dad took him in his office, whilst Edward kept staring off into the distance and smoking, as if all this hustle and bustle did not concern him at all, strangely motionless and indifferent amidst a commotion. He seemed miles and miles away, somewhere where it couldn't reach him. "And if you wanna know what I think, then I'll bet my month's salary that Dr. Cullen will simply pay Mr. Banner to drop the charges and the boy will get out of it smelling of roses like usually. No probation, no official fine, no jail, no scratch on his record, zilch. You'll see, he'll be outta here before you can blink."  
I stood up, finishing the glass of water, and offered it to him alongside the box with the apple pie. "Could you give it to dad, please? I got some homework left to do. I guess I'll go home."  
He grinned and nodded. "Sure, honey."

But when I got home, I was restless. I forced myself to lie down for some half an hour, because I was exhausted, but it was like lying on pins and needles. I picked up the homework, but put it away in few minutes; I picked up a book, then another, but I couldn't focus. I paced around, opened the windows and then closed them again. Perhaps it was not knowing, perhaps it was because of Edward. I texted him early on and glanced at the phone every once in a while, but got no reply. Or maybe it was because I have always hated that house, even as a child. I hated being alone there. Somehow, it scared me. The walls tended to close in on me and the teeth sticking out from the opened mouths of fish trophies mounted on them everywhere gave me the shivers. I often called for mum in the night, because I was not able to fall asleep, too frightened in the deadly stillness of the dark.  
So I fled it, packing a sketchbook and picking some cornflowers to put them on great-grandma Swan's grave. It's one of the few memories of her I have, cornflowers – I remember her picking them in the garden whilst she was teaching me to tell basic kinds of butterflies from one another, as they fluttered around us on a rare sunny day when I was three; mum later told me of her she had wanted to be a biology professor and spend her life researching butterflies and insects, but the pressure to marry and have children was too great and she had caved in, never turning her passion into a career. And then, when I was still three, she died.  
I planted a kiss on my index finger and then put it on her lips on the oval photo on the tombstone. I remembered her soft skin, which she cleaned with lemon – though wrinkled, it was as supple as velvet. And warm, like the Sun was ever-kissing it.  
"Hi, great-grandma," I whispered to her serious, sad, kindly face and laid the flowers on the grave. "Good to see you again."  
I crossed myself and prayed for a moment, searching for her in hazy, nearly static images from childhood in my head. But the church and the garden and the butterflies and the cornflowers were all I could find.

I sat down close by on a moss-covered boulder, taking out the sketchbook and charcoal from my backpack. It was overcast again, the Sun showing through the clouds pale and bloodless as if it was still winter. I started to draw the tombstones, set against the backdrop of the clouds. In a sense, it felt like being in England still, though where I was from, the cemetery was much older, much less orderly, much more crowded; some of the tombstones were broken, the inscriptions on them nearly erased by weather, the graves fallen into ruins because the families have long since died out or their descendants moved and lost interest.  
Soon after though, just as the clouds on the paper were beginning to take shape, I glanced up from my sketching and saw Edward at the opposite end of the cemetery, slowly walking towards the end of the first row. I saw him slowly kneel down to a grave and lay down a large bouquet of lilies on it. He stayed there like that, kneeling, his head hung, lost in thoughts, for a very long time. Wind kept crashing into him, but he didn't hike up his collar, or bother to button it up, as if he didn't notice it. He didn't notice me, either. I wavered whether to go to him and try to offer some comfort, leave quietly or stay very still, so as not to disturb him. In the end, I picked the last option, averting my eyes with all my might, focusing on the sketch to give him privacy. When I was about halfway through with it, I glanced at him and saw him caress the outline of the tombstone with his fingertips as if in strained longing mingling with grief and fury; then he rose to his feet and walked away, looking neither left nor right, very upright.

I felt like an intruder in something very personal.  
Was there the answer, besides his porphyria and his mother's illness, in the loss he's experienced? Was this why he was so violent, angry, sad and hell-bent on self-destruction?  
I went to the grave marked with snowy lilies. It seemed old; perhaps one of the eldest there. There was no name, no date, only a simple, perhaps freshly gilded inscription: _Resurgam_.  
I took out my rosary and prayed for a couple of minutes.

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 _AN: Finally a new chapter! Thanks to everybody who has stuck with this fic despite the long silence - I appreciate it very much. Thanks in particular to everybody who's reviewed (Silversimon, Kochabilka NicNick et al, thanks a lot you guys!) and subscribed, it makes me very happy - and more importantly, the feedback tells me what works and what doesn't, so, I'm really grateful for it. I think the next chapter is near to finish - fingers crossed, I might post it next week, unless RL gets in the way again. Anyway, updates on that will be on my profile:-)_


	8. Day by Day

_Resurgam._  
Yes, the dead have a way of returning. Sometimes as memories, good or bad, and nothing more than that. Sometimes, as they have for me since my earliest childhood, however, they return as something much more real and much more frightening. Some ask for help; others are simply lonely, lingering here unsure whether to go on or stay, and just come to play for a bit. My first friend when I was three was the spirit of a little girl murdered few months ago down in Olympia – not exactly something you can share with kids over popcorn in cinema. It doesn't do much for sanity, either.  
I wavered for a moment whether to search out Bree's grave; whether to try to strike up a direct contact. I both shoved the thought away and gathered the courage for giving it a go; the world of the spirits was something I had pushed away many years ago and I did not want it to enter my life again. With Bree's insistence, though, I wasn't sure I have a choice.  
But I didn't feel well enough for it.  
 _Not today_ , I apologised to her internally. _Just let me have a bit of rest._  
With the foolish baking, with the walking around, I've exhausted myself; and truth be told, the nightmares, incessant since the mysterious Garrett's absence, the lost, frightened, desperate eyes of Bree, didn't let me get much of sleep. Not to mention the headaches, or the various pains or troubles one gets after a heart attack.  
Though truth be told, those were much lesser and I felt much stronger and was able to do much, much more things than I had thought. Garrett, the strange healer, made me function semi-normally; to the point I was nursing a timid, secret hope. If that gift in him could make me able to walk the distance from home to the police station and the cemetery, bake, cook so quickly after my surgery, could he, perhaps, give me more time?

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At home, after slogging through lots of Trig and a bit of _Wise Children_ for an essay, a throbbing headache that made me feel like my head's made of glass and that it will burst into shards in any moment, the ribs chiming in and letting me know with a forceful kick that they are still far from healed, told me it's time to call it quits and rest till Angela comes. I debated whether to try to take some Tramal, or whether to wait with it for later, for the night so I could sleep. I didn't like taking much of the stuff, though it worked well. Back at twelve, during the chemos and radiotherapies, it was so indispensable I almost got addicted to it. I didn't want to risk it again.  
Outside, the clouds were gathering on the sky and passing each other like busy people on the street, restless and blown towards their respective destinations. The air though smelled sweet; there was not a hint of a-coming storm in it. The nature, for once here, had perfect gentleness about it. I laid down on the couch and just watched them. There was such peace in the sight. A cricket had landed on the bottom left corner of the window, ochre and coffee brown against the soft white and pale blue clouds, his body shivering as it gave out the chirping that strangely soothed me, even as it pricked my head.  
And of a sudden, I had a strange desire for Edward to be there with me, laid down with his head to my head, hold my hand and watch it with me – would that sight not calm down for a moment even that angry puzzle of ever-battling paradoxes that was him?  
It was odd, but I had the feeling that he of all people would understand it, what's so special about one cricket and the clustering of clouds; what's in these moments that make you stop, breathe and just wonder.  
Why did he beat up that teacher?  
The doorbell announced Angela's arrival. We had agreed to split up the reading between us to get it done faster. _Wise_ _Children_ just were not something that we enjoyed, no matter how hard we tried. We huddled up on the couch in the kitchen and buried our noses in the books.  
"Did you hear it?" she asked suddenly, peering at me. "About Edward? About what he's done to Mr. Banner?"  
I nodded, biting my lip without looking at her, burying my nose deeper in the book.  
"Mr. Banner's all bloody and black and blue, broken nose and all. He's got sutures on his head. But your dad let Edward go."  
"You got any idea what it was about?" I tried to persuade myself to look at her, but instead hid behind my hair. "Why Edward did it?"  
"No. I mean, I was there, in the library, it was just out of the blue."  
"Jesus. You didn't get hurt, did you?"  
"Nah, nobody did, except for Mr. Banner. Still, if you saw it... it was horrible. I thought Edward will kill him."  
With a disconcerting feeling in my stomach, that was something I couldn't rule out as a possibility. He could have. Easily. And if it's something specifically about this Biology teacher that sets him off, I had a horrible hunch he might snap one day so bad the teacher does end up dead.  
"Bella... what if he really is crazy?" she asked me timidly. "One moment nice, maybe, _maaaybe_ , then a 180 degree turn and he smashes everything around into pieces? Does that sound like normal and safe to you, girl? It deffo doesn't to me."  
"Well, safe he's not," I muttered, turning a page. "Never that."  
"But still you care about him," she said sadly.  
I didn't reply that.

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After Angela left, in the evening, a message beeped. It was from dad.

 _Eat. I'll come late._

That made me lose whatever appetite I might have had left. That house, it felt like a prison cell once again; I had to get out, or else my head would have exploded.  
I wandered through the forest for some time, I don't know how long. I didn't check. Twilight was coming in and with it, a soft, fresh drizzle. I walked on, letting it drench me. The air was quite warm, unusually so for March, and I didn't feel like going back to the empty house. I felt much better there, amidst trees. Though I was getting more and more tired by the minute, at least the headache was lessening. Some owls flew over my head, squabbling over something.  
 _But still you care about him._ Indeed.  
Dad had thrown out all the flowers from Edward I've kept, much as I tried to hide them – and he told me Edward was a no-go zone for me.  
Since the discharge from hospital, there came no new flowers, no notes, no contact. As if he had stopped to exist, as if I had, too.  
Care about him. It seemed absurd – I didn't know him. We barely started to circle around each other, with defences up like two scorpions. But it was true. I did care.  
I took my trainers and socks off to feel the moss beneath my feet, moist and soft, and listened to the forest talk, until I stepped out on a tall cliff into which shorebreaks were crashing with dark roar. What struck me as odd was the sudden silence, save for the forceful thudding of the water. Not a seagull, not a cricket. And then I saw him.  
He was sitting on a rocky cliff, knees drawn to his chest, chin laid on them, and stared ahead at the horizon. At first it was a shock and I froze in place in fear. And yet, as I calmed down, watching him thus, I felt a wave of sadness grip me and twist my heart into knots. He looked like somebody who has lost something immeasurably precious and could never ever retrieve it.  
He slowly turned his head to me and looked at me, arms around his knees tense – he looked at me with tired eyes and drops were streaming down his cheeks. Perhaps it was rain. Perhaps it was tears. On my own cheeks, was it tears or was it rain?  
And I thought of Emily Dickinson, crying out her anger at God for beggaring her – was the same anger in him, as it was in me?  
Slowly, carefully, I approached him. "Hi."  
"Hi."  
"You okay?"  
"Sure."  
"You know," I craned my neck to glance down at the sea, "the water looks quite freezing, I wouldn't like having to jump there for you," I flashed him a smile and he gave me an amused smile back.  
"You would?"  
I shrugged. "I guess."  
"Why?"  
I shrugged again, quirking my eyebrow. "You're a human being."  
He looked at me, something in his eyes strangely vulnerable and weary. "Thanks," he murmured and averted his gaze.  
"Mind if I sit here?"  
He shrugged and lit a cigarette, blowing out a puff of smoke.  
I sat down beside him, pulling my knees to my chest and the socks and trainers back on. He put the cigarette down and suddenly knelt to me as I was tying the laces on one shoe, and tied the laces on the other one. I blinked as he looked up into my eyes. He stroked my cheek with his fingertips.  
"How was staying at the Clearwaters'?"  
"Ummm..." I glanced away, tucking my hair behind my ear. He sat back down and picked up his cigarette. "Well, it was kinda awkward, considering the Clearwaters are mourning. I mean, Sue is a great woman, but... the last thing she needs right now is to have a sick teen she doesn't even know dumped at her place every day. In the end I just had to put my feet down. How have you been?"  
He smoked and didn't reply.  
I took the courage and asked him: "Edward, what happened with that teacher today?"  
He frowned, clenched his teeth and averted his face and I could see that was a question I would not get an answer for tonight. He threw the cigarette away and snubbed it, rubbing his forehead. He hugged his shins, clasping his hands on them and frowning.  
"I don't wanna talk about it, Bella."  
"You look like Hell," I told him, trying to smile at him. "Did you get any sleep?"  
He gave me a self-mocking, bitter smirk, large purple bruises under his eyes, hair a total mess, eyes harrowed and nearly empty. "Not in a while."  
"Mother?"  
He looked away, lighting up another cigarette and taking few drags on it. Then he just tightened his jaw and nodded, extinguishing the cigarette against the rock.  
"What happened?"  
He frowned, clenched his teeth and averted his face and I could see that was another question I wouldn't get an answer for. It stopped to rain and the clouds scattered, leaving the sky an enormous, open stretch of stars and indigo blue for once. It was breathtaking. I reached over for his hand and gripped it; he didn't grip mine back. I withdrew it and stared away at the forest, pressing my jaws together.  
"What are you doing here?" I asked after a while. "Just trying to clear your head?"  
He shrugged. "Waiting."  
"Waiting for what?"  
He looked up at the sky and then nodded to it. "This."  
Then there started a light show; a faint green glow, flickering and taking turns with a yellow and lilac one, swift, like the frantic fluttering of hummingbird's wings, light was dancing all over the dark sky, making me burst into a wide smile.  
"Oh my God," I shifted closer to him without breaking my gaze away from the sky. "Northern Lights."  
"You've never seen them before?"  
I shook my head, still watching the light show. "Never. You?"  
"It's like this here often, around this time. This cliff gets the best view."  
I smiled in wonder. "It's weird, I used to go here often when I was small, but I never caught this."  
"I guess they never let you out this late."  
I laughed while the lights turned the sky into a spectacle, as if they were going through pieces of glass in a kaleidoscope. "You bet. How long will it last?"  
"Couple of minutes more maybe, maybe the whole night."  
"You see it every time?"  
"I try." His voice changed. Soft. A little vulnerable. Caring. "Here," he slid out of his jeans jacket, putting it around my shoulders. "You're soaked."  
I blinked under his stare again. "I..." I cleared my throat and inched away from him, "I should probably get going. Thanks, I... enjoy it."  
"No," he wrapped it around me again. "You'll catch a cold. Keep it." We stared at each other in silence.  
I shot a glance at the depths below, the rocks sharp and the waves thundering as they crashed into the cliffs. If he jumps there, what chances does he have?  
"Would you... would you like to walk me home, Edward?"  
"Yeah." He paused. "Yeah, I guess I would."  
He took my hand and helped me get back to the house. The tiredness caught up with me and frankly, I was grateful to have him to lean on, rescue mission or not.  
By the door he stopped as if grown to the ground. I looked up into his eyes, biting my lip. "Would you – would you like to come in?"  
He hesitated. "Are you inviting me?"  
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess."  
He made a wary step forward. In front of the threshold he hesitated.  
"Well – come in."  
He entered then, following me into the kitchen, where I put his jacket on the heater to dry.  
"I'll get you a towel, okay?"  
"Might be better if you sit down and tell me where to find them," he replied me. "You must be pretty wiped out by now."  
"Well... yeah. Fine, it's that cabinet over there. Thanks, Edward."  
"No problem."  
He waited for me to sit on the couch first before he went for the towels. Handing me mine, he asked: "Want me to make you some tea? Something hot might do you good."  
"Thanks, but – geez, I can make the tea myself, you know."  
"Sure. But you don't have to, right? I think I still remember how to do it."  
"You know, babying ain't really a very attractive thing."  
"I'm not babying you. I'm just trying to be a functional boyfriend, whatever functional means." He quickly dried his hair and folded the towel on the commode. "Now, is there any herbal tea that you can actually drink?"  
"Okay. Well, yeah. It's in the jar by the cooker."  
He went over to it with a nod, poured water into a kettle, put it on the cooker and opened the jar. "Raspberry leaves?"  
"Yeah. It's for sore throat."  
"I know."  
He went about it with routine calm and I chuckled, drying my hair and drawing my knees to my chin. "You know, I've got a feeling that's something I'm gonna hear often in this relationship."  
He grinned at me a crooked grin. "I'll try to limit it to ten times a day."  
I laughed and shook my head, grabbing my forehead. "Oh, okay."  
He looked away, taking out a mug. "Have you been around the school yet?"  
"Nope. Why?"  
"When are you going to try out coming back?"  
"Tomorrow, I guess. Why, Edward?"  
He gave an one-shoulder shrug. "Just to prepare yourself – want to eat anything, by the way?"  
"There're some apples in the fridge, can you wash one for me?"  
"Sure." He took two out, washed them and started cutting them into neat, thin slices.  
"Would you like to eat anything, too?"  
"No, not really," he shook his head, cutting on. "Thanks."  
"Okay, prepare myself for what?"  
"The candles and the photos. Of that girl Ginny and her mum. It's kind of ironic, don't you think? While she was alive nobody moved a finger to help her, now they all light candles for her. Strange, I think it was seeing this irony that made Ginny's mother do it."  
His voice was detached, while I froze. "Made her do what?"  
"They didn't tell you?"  
"Tell me what?"  
"About Ginny's mum."  
My guts twisted in me. "What about Ginny's mum?" I asked slowly.  
"She's gone, too. They found her in the garage. She couldn't take it. She had just Ginny."  
I closed my eyes tight.  
Few seconds. Few seconds and the woman I didn't know, Ginny's mother, had nothing. Just like Ginny, maybe, had nothing. No hope. No safety. No way out that she would see, except for the one she's taken. Was it the same with Julia? The reason she jumped out of that window? No way out?  
Just few seconds and there is nothing left.  
I tried to push mum's image away.  
"No, no one told me," I murmured. "I guess they wanted to spare me. But... thanks. It's much better to know."  
The water came to a gentle boil and he poured it over the raspberry leaves, washing the pot and cleaning it away at an unhurried pace. As he was steeping the leaves, he remarked: "You're from England, right?"  
I shrugged and nodded.  
"You didn't like it there anymore?"  
I looked down on the ground and shook my head. "No, I love England very much," I murmured. "Its rivers. Its greenery. Its old bridges and vicarages. Its biting winds." I stopped myself there, nearly tearing – I've said much more than I had wanted and I clenched my jaws.  
He was warming his hands up on the cup as he watched me over his shoulder. "Why come here then?"  
I shrugged. "I had nowhere else to go. So I figured it would be nice to try to salvage whatever bond's still there between me and dad while I still can."  
He slowly nodded and strained the tea. "I guess it's not going as well as you'd hoped."  
I glanced back at him. "Yeah," I admitted.  
He looked at me and put the tea on the table in front of me before going back to the cabinets to lean against them. "Why did you have to leave England in the first place?"  
I hung my head and hugged myself, squeezing my arms. I frowned at him, but he was polite, his tone conversational. I bit my lip and looked down again. Eventually I said: "My mum died."  
He was silent for a long while. Then he softly asked: "How?"  
I shot a look at him. He was calm, studying me, but it wasn't unfriendly.  
I clasped my hands and looked at them, rubbing my thumbs against one another. "Her new shrink overdosed her. I found her on the kitchen floor unconscious when I came home from school. She died in the ambulance on the way to hospital. Of anaphylactic shock."  
He came over to me and very lightly, he covered my hands with his palm and squeezed them. I stiffened at his touch. He withdrew it.  
"Sorry," he muttered. "I shouldn't have."  
"No," I shook my head and wiped away a tear that was welling up in my eye. "It's... nice of you. I appreciate it. Thanks."  
"Was that shrink jailed for it?"  
I shrugged and looked down, picking up the cup. "He's still on trial. Manslaughter by gross negligence. But I think he'll get out of it." I took a deep breath, put the cup down and pulled myself up. "I'll finish the apples."  
He reached for my hand once more – and this time, he squeezed it with tenderness I wouldn't have searched for in him, even after the hospital. "Let me," he said as I quirked up my eyebrows at him in question. "You're tired. Just sit down and drink your herbs. It will get cold."  
I extricated my hand, blinking, and nodded and sat back down. "Thanks. But I really could do it myself, you know, and probably faster than you. It's just freaking apples for a quick snack, Edward. The way you go about it it looks as if you were making a fancy dish for some posh restaurant," I tilted my head with a smirk and he smiled wide, glancing back at me with amused sparks in his eyes and shook his head, cutting on.  
"Well, taking my sweet time with this is a nice excuse to stay over longer, you know."  
I grinned at him. When he was smiling like that, he was beyond lovely, in a surprisingly masculine, adult way for a boy his age.  
"You do this often?" he asked after a while, clearing away the cores and arranging the apple slices around a plate. "Worry about broken strays and let them into your home?"  
I looked at him from the side. "Are you? Broken?"  
He glanced at me with a suddenly serious expression. "More broken and more messed up than you can imagine."  
I shrugged and pulled my leg to my chest, hugging it. "I don't mind." For a second I was surprised at the truth in it.  
"Really?"  
I shook my head and grinned. "So long you don't intend to chop me up instead of those apples, broken and messed up is fine by me. I never had a single friend that would be normal, except maybe for Angela now. I don't see why my boyfriend should be any different."  
He laughed and then smiled back at me. His eyes were sparkling again. "Alright. No chopping you up. Promise." He served me the plate and returned to his place by the cabinets. He gripped their edges, knitting his brows and growing dead serious. "Look, I'm sorry about what happened on the ferry," he said, looking me in the eyes. "And all the other stuff. I scared you to death. I wish I could take it back, but I can't."  
I leant forward to him, clasping my leg closer. "I'd really like to say, 'it's okay'. But I dunno what _exactly_ happened. What's wrong with blood? It – makes you sick or what?"  
He gripped the edges tighter and then turned around to wash the knife and gave a shrug. "I'm just really messed up, that's all. The sight of blood triggers me, like Pavlov's reflex. I got it under control most of the time, but sometimes, I just blow up and overreact. It's PTSD, I guess?" he glanced back at me, puckering his brows, and I gave a nod. He looked back at the sink, putting the knife away to dry. "It's hard to think rationally, you know, the whole adrenaline rush, fight or flight deal. My head just goes all... blank and all I can think about is, get rid of it, get the hell rid of it, now."  
I watched his tense shoulders and nape, his cast down head and tight jaw for a while. Then I said softly: "I'm sorry. That must suck. I mean, with your need for transfusions and such."  
"Yeah," he muttered, a bit through his teeth.  
I wavered and then said: "I saw you at the cemetery."  
He stiffened a bit, but then just nodded and picked up a towel to wipe some dishes that were left there over from the baking.  
"Whom did you lose?"  
"A cousin."  
"How are you coping with it?"  
He half-turned around and slowly shrugged one shoulder, his jaw tight. "Just like you." He made a brief pause, watching me solemnly, his eyes dark and deep down, full of anger and pain. "Day by day."  
He listened for a few seconds and then glued himself off the cabinet, put the towel down and picked up his jacket. "I think your father's coming in. I should go."  
"Yeah," I cleared my throat. "Go. And thanks. For the tea and all – you know."  
He nodded and I could see in his eyes he did know what I mean. For a moment, he just looked me in the eyes, that mixture of pain, sadness and barely restrained anger back in his. Then he squeezed my shoulder. "You take care, Bella," he murmured.  
"You too."

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 _Author's note: Thanks everybody, everybody for the thoughtful reviews - Silversimon, Kochabilka, kmfulkerson, you really made my day(s) and the thought of you guys kept propelling me forward to finish this. Thanks also to everybody who favourited, subscribed and read this fic, I really appreciate it. I'm profoundly sorry for the long, long wait, RL was being so tough writing this needs must had to go on the backburner. Now it's getting stabilised, kind of, so I hope it won't take another forever to bring out the next chapter. Read, subscribe, review, love you all! Hope you enjoy._


	9. Hunting for the Truth

As Edward vanished, I heard dad's car pull in and slid off the couch to go to say 'Hi' to him.  
"Hi," he grunted and headed immediately for the fridge to take out a can of beer, then steered towards the couch in the den and switched on a game of baseball. At first I was not sure if I should make the attempt to talk or not. But then I decided to give it another go. Grabbing the tea and the sliced apples, I perched down beside him and started going through Trigonometry exercises.  
Vague anger, bottled up frustration nagged at me to talk it out with him; but each time I looked at him and started opening my mouth to speak, seeing his eyes so fixed on the screen and his face so distant, I lost my courage and went on with the Math exercises.  
"Bring me another beer, Bells," he said after an hour. "There should be still some left in the fridge."  
I rose my eyes from the textbook to look at him, nodded and went to carry out the order, silently like a ghost. I resisted the urge to throw that can at his head. But for a moment I regretted having that safety check in my mind – mum would have thrown it, may all Hell break loose afterwards. Sometimes, at least, it was effective in getting dad to communicate.  
"Dad... I need to talk with you about something."  
He lowered his head a little and drank up a long, focused gulp, sombre, distant. "Go to sleep, Bella."  
I took a deep breath. "Dad, it will take only a minute, please."  
"It's late. Go. I won't repeat it."  
I dug my nails in my hand and clenched my jaws. I turned around and walked away, but at the doorway I stopped and looked back at him. "It would be her birthday on Saturday."  
He was silent.  
"Could we go somewhere together? Play bowling or something?"  
He drank up without looking back at me. "I'm going away, Bells. I've booked a fishing trip. With Leah and Sue."  
I hung my head and went away.

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The other day, Thursday, after laying in bed till the afternoon in excruciating pain instead of going to school, I caved in and took the Tramal. Within some thirty, forty minutes, I was able to move again and think. Slowly, carefully, I packed my notes for the last two essays I needed to finish yet and sauntered off towards the Church for a moment, before heading to the Library.  
I picked a desk at the back, where it seemed the quietest, and bargained with Heavens to please let the Tramal work its magic for as long as possible.  
"Better sit down quickly," I heard behind me and turned around to face Edward, who smiled at me with merriment. "You don't look too stable on those two legs."  
"I'm not," I admitted and he pulled the chair for me and I sat down.  
"In pain?"  
"Not anymore. I'm okay, thanks. Just a bit weak."  
"What are you doing outside, anyway? Shouldn't you be rather in bed in this state?"  
"I went to the Church. To pray for mum and... other people. And to light some candles. And I figured it might be nicer to study here than alone at home," I half-smiled, feeling a bit uncertain, and slid the bag off my shoulder, putting it down beside the desk. "And I thought I'd grab some books when I go back. You?"  
He shrugged and gave me a wide smile, glancing at the books in his hands and lifting them a bit and then at me. "I came to donate some books and put them in their place. My penance for the brawl."  
"Would you like some help?" I smiled at him and he shook his head, smiling back at me as he put the books on the shelves.  
"Maybe after you're done with studying, if you feel well enough later?" he suggested and peered at the hefty volume in my hand. "What is it, anyway?"  
I shrugged, sitting down, opening the book before me and propping my cheek up on my hand. "Just still catching up on some essays."  
"I could help you, if you want?" he offered, looking a little uncertain. "When I'm done here?"  
"Not gonna be anytime soon, young man," the middle-aged librarian pointed out to him, arching her eyebrow, and thrust another box full of books in his hands.  
I stifled a chuckle and he grimaced at me conspiratorially, then broke out in a wide smile showing his strong white teeth. "Fine, then I'll help you as I work."  
"Careful about him, girl," the librarian leant down to my ear on her way back to the storage room.  
"I will be," I promised and grinned at him.  
Mad, bad and dangerous to know. Yeah. I got the picture.  
Then I laughed and shook my head, lowering it to hide the chuckles.  
"Yeah?"  
"Nothing. Just... it's strange to see you in such a good mood."  
"I was hoping to spend the afternoon with you, the moment my penance's over," he shrugged, stuffing another book in its place. "The police Chief is out of town today, so. I thought I might take you somewhere calm and nice. Maybe the yacht, if you want. We could sail towards the San Juan Island, maybe see some orcas and seals. No walking, nothing that would exhaust you. We could finish those essays there, just check the books you need out."  
"Wait, wait, wait, a yacht? You serious?"  
He nodded, puckering his brow in puzzlement. "Yeah. We could anchor somewhere nice, work and talk, watch the Milky Way if it's clear enough. I'd get you home before your dad's back, if that's your concern."  
"You mean you'd steer it?"  
"Yeah."  
Laughing, I raked my both hands through my hair and shook my head. "Is that even legal, at seventeen?"  
He gave me a cocky grin and flashed his eyebrow up and down. "Who cares?"  
But with that, our conversation about that topic ended; out of the blue, he frowned and straightened up to ramrod stiffness, watching a tall, uncertain-looking man with dark hair, glasses and a broken nose fixed by bandages pass us by in a quick, nervous gait, slouching as if afraid, and join up a group of men sitting by the table next to the librarian at her desk. Edward sat down next to me, facing him, took a pen out of his pocket and began spinning it around his fingers, until that man peered at us and paled, hastily looking away. But he kept glancing at us, ever so often, as if compelled, as if he couldn't help it. That pen seemed to transfix him. At one point, Edward sunk his stare directly into that man's, slight, mean upcurve in the corner of his lips, and intensified the speed with which he spun the pen around. The man took a deep breath and focused on his friends. But he kept peeking back. At the pen, at Edward.  
I watched it in unease, feeling like I was sitting on pins and needles and aching to stand up and run, sensing I was a witness to something ugly I didn't understand.  
He started tapping at the table with the pen in a regular, monotonous rhythm. The man jerked, glared at him and then took some pill and washed it down with coffee, pointedly ignoring Edward. But something in his manner was very strange, in the way he was sweating, in the way his hands were shaking, as if he was on the verge of nervous breakdown, as if he wanted to wrench that pen out of Edward's hand and break it in half over his knee.  
"You're terrorising him," I whispered with indignation, facing him.  
"Very observant of you," Edward agreed, tapping on and watching that man's every move.  
"Why?"  
Edward sighed, stopped and looked at me. "You don't want to know."  
I frowned. "I do."  
He shook his head. "Trust me, you don't."  
And he started spinning the pen around his fingers again, looking away.  
It was very strange, but the Tadzio association I got when I first saw him returned. "Edward?" I asked carefully.  
"Hmm?"  
"Is that the Biology teacher? Mr. Banner?"  
He pressed his lips together, knitting his eyebrows. "Yeah?"  
I sat back, taking a deep breath. "You like books in general, don't you? Old books, too?"  
He nodded, interest seeping into his eyes as he gazed at me.  
"Have you ever read _Death in Venice_?"  
The spinning pen came to an abrupt halt. He scanned my face and I could see he understands my meaning. He slowly nodded.  
I took another deep breath and ran my fingers through my hair. I guess that might explain the lab table and the broken window. Still I asked him about it.  
He shrugged again. "Let's just say Mr. Banner leant a bit too close for comfort as he was checking on my progress with a lab sample and I snapped."  
"Is that what it was about yesterday?" I asked quietly.  
He glanced down, his nostrils flaring, and his jaw tightened. He looked at me. "He brushed against my hand as he was taking out a book next to the one I was taking out," he said. "I lost it."  
"Do your parents know?"  
He snorted and crossed his arms on his chest. "What's there to know? It's not like he's done anything yet that would give me a proof. Nor will he. He might be a disgusting pervert and a total nervous wreck but he isn't stupid. I have nothing."  
I processed it for a while, fear and compassion battling in me once more – and against my better judgement, compassion won. "How long has this been going on?"  
He shrugged. "Since we came here to Forks. Two years and some months."  
Must have been maddening. Small, subtle gestures that sickened him, but which he couldn't really use as a piece of string to hang the one who tried to molest him with. Furtive leering glances. Brief, as if accidental touches that could mean nothing, but made one feel dirty and furious. I imagined if that was happening to me, day by day – and I immediately felt nauseated. It reminded me of how I was bullied. It was also like this. Subtle. Just small details that seemed innocuous enough, that could prove nothing, but that were slowly driving me insane.  
"Maybe you should have told my dad," I said quietly and he scoffed, rolling his eyes.  
"And he would have believed me. Yeah, right, Miss Swan."  
He had a point there. "If you don't tell anyone, it will only get worse," I told him as quietly. "Why not tell your dad at least?"  
The pen snapped in two halves. He took a deep breath and glanced at me. "Because he won't listen," he murmured and lit up a cigarette, taking few smokes before the infuriated librarian snatched it away from him.  
"Where do you think you are, young man?" she snarled. "In a bar? Get out if you can't live without it, but don't you ever do this here again, got it?"  
He gave her the most charming of smiles. "Of course, do forgive me, please," he said, his voice and eyes all contrition. "It won't happen again."  
She blinked. "Oh – sure. It's alright. Just – mind it doesn't, okay?"  
She then left in utter confusion, whilst he tried to bite down a grin as he gave me a nonchalant shrug and went to throw the cigarette away. I gave an incredulous chuckle under my breath and hung my head low to the textbook, hair mercifully falling down to hide my face.  
"So – works every time?" I murmured when he came back, biting down further chuckles.  
I could hear the amusement in his voice. "Well, when it doesn't invite old perverts to ogle me, these looks do have their perks sometimes."  
I shook my head, muffling my laughter as I underlined a passage in my notepad. "You're a beast."  
His eyes twinkled as he flashed his teeth at me in a smile. "Just yesterday evening you were certain I'm a human."  
I stopped with the exercise to look at him for a moment, grinning. "Just yesterday you weren't seducing a poor librarian in front of your girlfriend. Not to mention smoking in a non-smoking zone."  
He laughed and propped his head up on his elbow. "I thought you'll never berate me for that. Glad it came."  
I smiled and shook my head, returning to the essay. "I wouldn't have. Didn't mean to. I mean, I got it why, the need for cigarette," I said progressively more quietly. Then I shot a glance at him and grinned again, shifting on the seat. "But you asked for it now."  
He gave a low laugh, his eyes all shining as he watched me. Then he carefully, slowly lifted his fingers to my forehead and slid with the tips of his nails over my hairline. I shuddered a little and turned very still, staring at him. He leant down to me and touched that line, barely, with his lips. The tips of nails slid over my temple to my cheekbone and he placed that butterfly kiss on my eyelids with such reverent ardour I stiffened further, unable to move, hair rising, skin tingling. I started to take longer, deeper breaths, more erratic. I was afraid – and the fear heightened the thrill. I never wanted him to stop; I wanted to stay still like that forever, for fear of chasing the feeling away, and just feel his touch, feel that thrill go through me like a ray of light, golden and warm. He went on brushing with his kisses against my face and it felt like it was made of fireflies and his lips, though cool, was the fire that lights up their lanterns in the night. He took my chin in between his fingers, running his thumb over my lower lip, whilst he rested his forehead against mine, eyes shut.  
Forehead to forehead, we sat there in that library, not wanting maybe to go back to whatever it was each of us was running away from. I slipped my fingers under his sleeves and slid with them over his upper arms and shoulders in ovals and circles. He smelled like Heaven. But the shoulders I was touching seemed unmistakeably masculine and adult, filled up the way 17-years-old boys usually aren't; somewhere in between of a young man and a boy, he was electrifying for me. I slid my forehead down, leaning it against his chest, heart beating fast – we stayed still, very still for a moment.  
"I... got to go home," I said, clearing my throat. "I promised Angela we'd finish the homework together today."  
It was a lie. But it could be arranged with one call.  
"Yeah," he nodded, his voice raspy, too. But he didn't move and neither did I. We just stared each other in the eyes, he kept cradling my cheek in his hand. "I forgot. Got something for you." Then he fished in his pocket and took out an ivory shawl. "Will be cold tomorrow," he mumbled and wound it around my neck. I blinked, while he gently put his hands on my shoulders, stroking them. "So you don't get sick or something."  
I blinked again and bit my lip, taking a sharp deep breath, this time to dispel the tingle in my eyes. He brushed against the outline of my face with the back of his fingers. I resisted the urge to lean into them. I was afraid. It was then that I understood how _very_ afraid I was. Not of his violence; of his caring gestures.

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Inviting Angie over was a way escaping; but it was something else, too. I had one debt to make up for. A debt to Bree, for not contacting her.

"I don't think he's killed her, Angie," I murmured after a while of making notes, biting the tip of the pencil.  
She gave me a doubtful look, but to my surprise she seemed somewhat interested. "Why not?"  
"I don't know. It's just not adding up. He's violent and unstable and all, but he's logical, analytical. I dunno, if he had wanted her, he wouldn't have had to rape her, she was into him. I think to him it just wouldn't make any sense to assault her."  
"Maybe she said no," Angela whispered, it was clearly difficult for her to talk about it.  
I shook my head. "Then he just could have sweet-talked her some, take her out, it wouldn't have been that tough for him to persuade her to change her mind."  
"Not sure if rapists think that way, Bella. Maybe it's just about hurting and humiliating someone, seeing them scared, pleading and powerless. Maybe it _was_ about having her when she doesn't want it."  
"A good point."  
She glanced at me like I'm crazy.  
"No, I still don't think he did it. But what you just said, we could bear this in mind that that's really what it was about for the killer."  
"Why are you so sure Edward's not lying to you?"  
"He was in hospital in Seattle for special treatment because he's ill, when it happened. And before that with Nurse MacFayden."  
She grimaced and rolled her eyes. "Says he. I wonder if that hospital is the one that belongs to Dr. Cullen, too? And as for that other thing, yeah, I've heard that one, tell me another fairytale."  
After a bit of silence, I asked: "You remember that dress she went to buy?"  
"Yeah. Why?"  
"Can you describe it for me?"  
"Dark blue, tulle, full A-line skirt, strapless, with a small train. It was really cute, sparkling with beads, kinda like the stars in the night."  
That fit that one I kept seeing in my nightmares to a T.  
"I think she bought it, Angie. Edward says he dropped her off there to shop, because she apologised to him and he promised to go with her to the dance. They sorted that blackmail thing out."  
Angela shook her head, frowning. "He's trying to get you. He'd be a complete idiot to tell you anything else."  
"I don't think he's lying. If she was just killed, I could see him doing it in anger, but not raping her. Look at what he did to Mr. Banner, he did it on the spot, exploding in anger. I think if he did it, if he killed her, he'd just dump her by the road straight out of the car, and hit the gas, driving till he cools down. This guy, the one who killed her, he dragged her into the middle of the forest and tried to cover her up at least a bit. That suggests a level of thinking. Edward doesn't really think when he's angry."  
"Yeah, but maybe he calmed down when he killed her," Angela pointed out, pained. "Or how about..." she wavered, but went on, swallowing, "how about they started making out, she told him yes at first, then changed her mind, he lost it, raped her, killed her when he realized what he's done and hid her?"  
I shook my head and bit the pencil again. "But where's the dress, Angie?"  
"You don't know if she had bought it."  
"I'm almost positive. And I think it would be easy to find out. Angie, that shop, is it still there?"  
She swallowed, stiffening, but seemed intrigued despite herself. "Yeah."  
"Any idea if the same shop assistant or assistants still work there?"  
"Yeah, they do. That's why I avoid it."  
"Look, Angie, it's just about an hour of ride to Port Angeles, right? When do they close, around six?"  
"Yeah. You mean-" she was incredulous and I shifted and leant forward to her.  
"Yeah, why not?" I stared her deep in the eyes, searching through them. I glanced at the clock. "It's half-past four, we can still make it," I stared her in the eyes again. "Don't you want to know the answer?"  
She weighed it in her head for a moment, then whispered: "Okay."  
She clasped the book shut, flung her things into her bag and sprang to her feet with sudden determination. "Okay, let's find out. No idea why it's so important or what it proves, but it's a start at least."  
"Well, at least it would prove that Edward didn't lie about dropping her there. And that, as you said, is a start."  
She helped me up, eyeing me with worry. "Can you make it?"  
I smiled at her and gave a firm nod, going to swallow the Tramal again. I wouldn't let my body stand in the way of finding the truth.

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At the shop, when we asked about seeing Bree, the blonde shop assistant whose nametag read Cora frowned in thinking.  
"The girl that was killed?"  
Angela nodded, paling.  
"Well... let me see. What was the colour of that dress she bought, Kelly?" she turned to the other shop assistant with wild ginger curls.  
"Blue, I think. Oh yeah, it was that kind of knock-off of that Armani dress Zhang Ziyi was wearing at the Golden Globes two years ago, do you remember?"  
"Yeah," she turned to us, brightening up before she saddened. "Yeah, she bought a blue dress here – now that I think of it, you were here with her two days before, right? When we were closing?"  
Angela nodded. "Do you remember anything else, please? Anything else at all?"  
"Like what, honey?"  
"What did you put that dress in, a box and one of your store bags?" I asked.  
"Yeah – yeah, I suppose so. We always do."  
Angela asked: "Was there anybody with her? A boy, or some guy?"  
"No, I don't think so. Kelly?"  
The ginger shook her head. "No she was here alone."  
"Do you remember if she looked happy?" I asked.  
"Happy?" Cora chuckled. "Girl, she was on cloud Nine. I asked her if she hit the jackpot and she grinned at me and told me she did. That her crush told her he'd go with her to the dance. I remember I told her 'Congrats.' and gave her some advice for a hairstyle, so she'd make his jaw drop."  
Angela and I crossed looks. She swallowed and nodded to me.  
I turned to the sales lady again. "Has nobody come here to ask about her?"  
"No, no one at all," she shook her head, knitting her brows in puzzlement. She shrugged. "I figured it wasn't important, when I came back here after the weekend of kinda thinking whether to go to the Police or not and found out they already caught the killer. Good thing he's locked up, too," she shuddered. "I always knew Pete would do something nasty one day."  
We exchanged quick surprised looks with Angela. "You knew him?"  
"Yeah. He used to live next door. Must have stopped taking his meds, the bastard. That's always the thing with schizophrenics, you never know what they do once they start ditching the pills."  
This set off a red alarm in my mind.  
"I think my dad messed up," I told Angela as we were hurrying away back to the car.  
"How?"  
"You know how I had a friend, Julia? She had schizophrenia and OCD. She would often confess to terrible things even though she did nothing, when she was psychotic. She couldn't really tell what was real and what wasn't then."  
"So you think that Pete just confessed because he's ill?"  
We got into the car and she turned the key in the ignition.  
"Well, what if yeah? What if dad was just so relieved to find somebody to pin it on he gave it no efforts at all? You've been living here, you must have heard some things. How good a cop is my dad?"  
She gave an uncertain shrug, puckering her brow as she pulled out of the parking lot. "Not sure, Bella. We don't get that much of crime here. Nothing complicated to solve, really, except for Bree's murder. He's a nice guy, though a bit gruff – my dad sometimes goes fishing with him and says he's great at that. But as a cop, no idea."  
I bit my lip, all tense. "You know what I'm thinking? That dad knows, that he jailed the wrong guy. He definitely seems to think it was Edward, but still, he didn't seem to give it any special effort when he got that confession. What if he pressured that soldier, Pete, till he broke down and confessed, just to solve it so people wouldn't panic and he'd keep his job?"  
Angela thought it through, horrified. "Well, your dad's middle-aged," she said after a while. "And there's a lot of unemployment. Forks ain't a rich place. He'd have it tough to find a new job. It's sick, but... it kinda makes sense."  
"So that means that guy that killed Bree's maybe still out there."  
We glanced at each other, tense, and she took a deep breath, queuing behind a Coca-Cola lorry, pale like Death. She raked her fingers through her hair. "Okay – okay. Sorry, it's a lot to process. So A, we know she bought the dress. A fact. B, Edward wasn't lying about promising to go with her. Another fact. C, we know the dress vanished. Fact again. D, the soldier's a schizophrenic and maybe did it, maybe didn't. E, maybe Chief Swan botched it. But where does that leave us?"  
"A, Edward probably didn't do it. He had no motive. B, I have a hunch that dress is the key, Angela. Where the heck is it?" I threw my palms up, knitting my brows and leaning to the side to her a bit.  
She gave me a quizzical look, tilting her head. "What's on your mind?"  
I swallowed and ran my fingers through my hair. "What if that guy still has it?" I whispered, zoning in on her. "I mean, serials keep mementos. Not all, I think, but... what if?"  
She blanched again, eyes growing huge. "Jesus Christ. You think it was a serial?"  
"You said: of a type. I searched for girls that were similar to Bree and cases that were similar to hers. I did find them. Runaways, now presumed to be dead."  
"Could be just coincidence."  
"Could be. And maybe it isn't. What if it isn't, Angie?"  
She was silent for long, blinking and turning her attention to the road, where two wackos tried to overtake each other at a tight spot. "Alright. Let's say it isn't. Let's say it was a serial. Let's say he's still out there. And your dad's not the best of cops and the Police won't help us, at least until we have something big in our hands. Bella, that's dangerous." Her knuckles on the steering wheel whitened. "That's bloody dangerous. Even if it's just a regular sicko murderer. What if... he somehow finds out we asked there at that shop?"  
"I know," I said quietly. "That's scary as heck, isn't it?"  
We looked at each other for a couple of seconds. "Okay," she muttered, frowning in determination. "Bree would have risked it for me, too. What do we do next?"  
"First of all, if it's a serial, maybe he's looking for a new prey right now. Maybe, _maybe_ he watched Bree on Facebook. Could we go through her friends and could you tell me whom do you know and do not know?"  
And that's what we spent the rest of the ride doing on my Smartphone.

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 _Author's note: My deepest thanks to Kochabilka for the wonderful in-depth review! You gave me the energy to finish this much faster than I had thought I would be able to. Also, warm welcome to the new readers and subscribers:-) Read, review, follow, luv ya:-)_


	10. In for a Penny, in for a Pound

The price for that trip was fear for Angela and a sharp, relentless stabbing pain in the heart and the left half of my body and the ribs throughout the night, and a headache so horrible I thought dying might be better than another minute of it. So, Tramal to the rescue. Let me sleep, sleep deeply and without dreams.  
That part though didn't work out. I fell asleep near the dawning, but what awaited me was not relief, but the images of Bree as she was struggling with her attacker, pleading with him and crying.  
In the morning I leant out of the window and the chill in the air confirmed Edward's yesterday's prediction. It was freezing. There were even patches of hoarfrost on the grass, creeping over a dead fox thrown away by a car as it crashed into it in the night, its dead eyes reflecting the world around. A life cut short. I fingered the soft cashmere of the scarf Edward gave me, staring at the dead animal, and wound it around my neck, burying my fingers and chin in it with closed eyes, taking in its smell. I didn't want to watch any more death.

xxx

Before he dropped me off at school, dad told me with an uncomfortable cough and looking away: "Bells, I've... booked that trip for a week, in the end. From this weekend till the next. I..." he took a deep breath and clutched the steering wheel tight, staring ahead. "I need a break. It's kind of too much. Everything. Can you manage it here alone?"  
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. "Sure," I glanced away in the end and gripped my bag, staring out. "I can manage."

xxx

"No way, _Cullen_ 's dating _her_?!" one girl gave a muted squeal behind my back. I had noticed her whispering with a bunch of other girls before;  
"People. What else would you expect from them?" I heard behind me and turned around with a shy smile.  
"Hi."  
"Hi."  
"Well, I don't know," I told him and grinned. "But sometimes I understand Hannibal Lecter's way of dealing with the rude."  
He flashed me a wide smirk, his eyes twinkling. "Do you now?" he asked with unusual merriness.  
"Don't you?"  
"Yeah, I'm all for massacre, murder and having people for dinner," he smirked a lopsided smirk, brimming with amusement, and reached for my hand and kissed it. I blinked and made a small step back, trying to pull away on instinct – but he didn't let go. Instead he gently gripped my palm a little tighter and started stroking it with his thumb, staring down into my eyes with torn sadness. Like... I don't know, like he needed a hug, but didn't know how to ask for it, or if he can. Then he kissed my hand again, slowly, knuckle by knuckle. I reached for his cheek and gave it a tentative stroke.  
"You had..." I cleared my throat, withdrawing my hands quickly, "you had a bad night?"  
"Kinda," he admitted, his voice a bit raspy. He frowned and ran his fingers through his tousled hair, turning his face away a bit, looking grim and tired. "Mother's ill again, I was taking care about her."  
I squeezed his shoulder. He looked at my hand and covered it with his, his eyebrows knit.  
"I'm sorry. You okay?"  
"Yeah," he muttered, without taking his eyes off our hands on his shoulder.  
"How is your mother? Better?"  
He looked at me and I extricated my hand. "Yeah. A lot. You know, the sudden switch. She's pretty well now, as if nothing happened." He took a deep breath and raked his fingers through his hair again, puckering his forehead. Then he looked at me again. "And you? Did you sleep?"  
I shook my head, shifting weight from one leg to the other. "Not really," I admitted. "I had nightmares. And I had to keep thinking about mum. The things she still wanted to do in life. The things she won't see. The birthday gift I put in her coffin unopened and - and stuff," I finished, swallowing, not trusting my voice to stay even at the moment.  
He nodded. Stared at me for a while with an expression that was hard to decipher. It was... dark maybe, torn between sadness and anger again. He slowly brought his hand to my cheek and touched it with his fingers.  
I cleared my throat. "We should get going."  
"Sure. Mind if I...?" he glanced at the bag on my shoulder and I blinked and shook my head.  
"No, uh... thanks."  
He slid it off my shoulder and carried it for me. It was only then, as we walked together down the corridor, that I noticed the other students staring at us and whispering comments to each other.  
It seemed we were the town's new reality show of sorts. The larger part of it just watched the brilliant doctor's errant son and the prodigal daughter of the Chief Swan and waited with bated breath for something to go wrong; either Edward snapping and killing me, or my dad killing Edward first, whilst the smaller part was either worried like Angela, the librarian or Mr. Cheney, or absolutely thrilled, like Nurse MacFayden or Nurse Peggy.  
Angela passed us by, froze in place, turned back and scanned us in horror; then she shifted the sling of her backpack on her shoulder and gave us a tentative nod.  
"Hi, you two."  
Edward gave her a surprised frown. "Hi."  
"So... see you in class, Bella."  
I gave her a quick hug. "Yeah. See you in class, Angie."  
She nodded again, cast her eyes down and rushed away.  
Edward glanced back at her. "Now, that's weird. What changed?"  
I filled him in about our sleuthing trip.  
"And I will not drop it, so save your breath if that's what you wanna say," I added when he took a deep breath, frowned at me and crossed his arms on his chest.  
"You have a serious death wish. Both of you."  
I shrugged. "I know, right?"  
"And still?"  
"The truth is worth it."  
He shook his head, rubbing his forehead with his fingers. "It's not, Bella. Not if you can get hurt so badly you might never get over it, or you might die. Maybe it would be really better if you leave it be."  
"I can't," I murmured, staring after Angela as she was vanishing from the corridor. "If for nothing else then for Angie. And that soldier, he might be sitting in jail for nothing. And Bree... if that soldier didn't kill her and the real killer's out there, don't you think she deserves justice? And that it might not be the last time that guy kills?"  
He frowned. "True enough," he conceded. Then he glanced at the clock and gently nudged me to set off. "Let's finish this at the lunch break or in Biology?"  
"Sure. Just promise me you won't throw Mr. Banner out of the window if he interrupts us."  
He laughed and took me around my shoulders. "No. I'll just tear his head off. That should take care of the problem."

xxx

At the cafeteria, we picked a table in a far corner and he brought me my tray, to the stares and whispers of most of the other students there.  
He opened his mouth and I gave him a pointed look, raising my eyebrow and crossing my arms on my chest. "How about you help us, get your dad to pull some strings to stir up some top brass in FBI to have a look at it instead of telling me to forget it?"  
He shook his head and threw his hands up in defeat. "I see, so you're not gonna drop it no matter what I say. Well, let's talk about something else for now then. How are you gonna spend the weekend?" he asked, sipping from his red thermo mug.  
I shrugged and took my juice glass in my both hands. "I dunno. Dad's gonna be away the whole time, so..." I raked my fingers through my hair and sighed, drinking up. "I guess I'll just stay in and try to let all the bones and organs rest and heal. Maybe call Angie over, try to search for clues. You?" I drank up again and glanced at him. "Got any plans?"  
He sat down opposite me slowly. "Your dad leaves you alone here over the weekends?" he inquired, tilting his head with a slight, pensive frown. "All the time?"  
I gave a defensive shrug and bit my lip. Then I drank up again. "So far." After a moment, I added, hanging my head: "I guess it just wasn't convenient for him. I mean, having me over here all of a sudden. At first I thought, maybe..." I bit my gum and averted my eyes, "but I guess I was wrong. He's got his routine, his sports, the Clearwaters, his fishing. And I just don't fit into it. He'll be gone for a week."  
He didn't reply to that. When I peeked at him, he was thoughtful. "In a way, that's maybe good," he murmured. I quirked my eyebrows up. He gave me a slow smile and leant his chin down on his folded arms on the table. "Well, you know, I'm wondering – when the dragon's not there to check if the princess is locked in the tower, would you care to go with me to France for the next nine days?"  
"What?" I sputtered the juice out.  
He shrugged, his eyes dancing. But suddenly he sobered up and explained in complete seriousness: "You're not well still. I was thinking, since Garrett can't come, if you'd like to meet his father, he's a healer like him. He's in France now and he's too busy to come here, but if we could get there, he would spare the time for you. He's one of the best healers that I know."  
I blinked. "Well... that's... that's very nice of you, but... Jesus. Wow," I stared at the floor and rubbed my temple, trying to think quickly. With him. To France. Alone. Without telling dad, or anybody else for that matter. If that didn't sound unsafe and like a mighty bad idea, I didn't know what would. But then so was the search for Bree's killer. In for a penny, in for a pound, right?  
"Vladimir is my uncle. He has a house in Normandy, not too far from Giverny," he went on explaining, calm and matter-of-fact. "Well, actually it's an old chateau. With gardens to rival those in Giverny. Some of them have actually been designed by Monet, as a matter of fact, only there are no tourists. We'd have it just to ourselves. Ever been to Normandy?"  
I shook my head.  
"The castle is beautiful. It's a very quiet place, full of greenery and peace, detached from all that goes on outside," his eyes lit up and his face softened, like his voice. "Old trees line the driveway and fill the parkland, some yews there are over a thousand years old. And nearby is a wonderful cemetery. You'll love it. It's really a work of art more than anything. Atmospheric."  
I flashed my teeth at him in a grin, tickled, and arched my eyebrows at him. "So – you're inviting me out for a date at a cemetery?"  
"Yeah," he gave me a slowly growing, lopsided smirk. "Yeah, I guess I am."  
I laughed and shook my head, drawing my knees close to my chest. "Alright," I grinned at him again. "Go on."  
He smiled and leant back on the backrest, bracing his elbow leisurely on it. "The castle is from 13th century. There's a lot to explore there. And the acoustics are incredible, especially in the abbey ruins left in the forest on the grounds. Vladimir sometimes throws musical soirées there, hiring the most talented musicians, just for his selected guests. If you fancy hearing anybody, might be it could be arranged. We could go to Giverny, too, and have a nice picnic, you could take your sketchbook. Just rest and have a nice time. Then maybe to Rouen, to Mont Saint Michel, to Paris, to see the museums and to listen to some music, if you want. It's really up to you."  
"Okay – okay, okay. You mean, that we would stay at your uncle Vladimir's there?"  
"It's quiet and cosy. And old, as I said. I think you'd like it. There's a bedroom on the ground floor, you could take it," he offered, watching me in that seriousness again. "Mine's upstairs, no worries. The quiet might be good for the headaches you're having."  
"And what about school? I just came back today-"  
He shrugged and curled his lip up in derision. "No problem. I can get father or any of the doctors at the hospital to sign you're too sick to attend. And we can catch up together as we're there."  
"I can't travel abroad without dad's signed consent. And he won't let me go."  
"Well, either you can make it so he signs it without noticing what he's signed, or I can just copy his signature no problem."  
"A forgery?! Jesus, Edward, that stinks of monumental trouble."  
He gave a careless shrug. "Alright. Leave it to me. I'll get it for you, signed by Mr. Swan himself."  
"How?"  
"As I said," he smirked, eyes twinkling. "Leave it to me."  
"And when do you mean to go?"  
He checked his Smartphone. "It flies tomorrow at 12:18. It's a long journey, I know, but it will be worth it, I promise. And we'll get back before he does. We'd just have to deal with Angela somehow so she doesn't raise Hell that you're not here."  
"Wait, wait, wait, you're serious? You're not just joking?"  
"Dead serious."  
"I'll think about it," I said at length.

xxx

Dad was already gone. There was just a short note reminding me he'll return on Monday morning, the week after the next. I plopped down on the couch, staring at it.  
In the beginning, he had been different. Uncommunicative, sure, but he seemed to care in his own way, the firm, silent way I knew from childhood.  
 _He will be much tougher guardian of my health than mum,_ I had thought back then. But I was wrong. He was a different person now. No longer the dad who was happy to have some dad-daughter time, even if it was only so long it somehow involved fishing, bowling or the sea life. No longer the strict, reserved dad the six-years-old Bella could always rely on in time of crisis. Where did it go wrong exactly?  
I forced myself to accept it was time to move on and to think about my future. In few months I'll be eighteen. I'll be able to move out. I sat down with a pen and paper and counted all the money I had on my account and the money mum left me, adding among the assets the small house great-grandpa passed onto me in Hathersage, currently let out. Put together, it was not much. Do I go back to England and finish high school there? Do I move in to that house in Hathersage and arrange it somehow with the people who are renting it now, so as to not to lose this only stable source of income I have? Do I leave Edward and Angela?  
Or do I stay and ask Angela if I can move in with her – or do I ask Edward?  
Another deep breath.  
Alright.  
I needed to have a serious talk with Edward. One for which it was maybe way too early, but I didn't have much time left to waste.  
I checked my travel insurance; fortunately, it lasted till the end of the next month. My passport was okay, too. I packed up and called Edward I'll go with him.

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 _Author's note: Shout-out to Kochabilka, Traceybuie, JustAnotherBaggins and SilverontheRose, you've all made my day(s)!:-) I got motivated and got it together sooner than I thought I'd be able to. So, hope you enjoy. The next chapter is from some 70% done, I'd say... I'm looking forward to working on it._


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